


Pockets Full of Stones

by flowerslut



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Drama, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Identity Reveal, Semi Slow-Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerslut/pseuds/flowerslut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you reach the bottom it’s not true when they say that there’s no where else to go but up. Grab a shovel and enough desperation and you can dig yourself as deep as you could ever imagine. Just try not to suffocate.<br/><br/>In which Adrien runs, Marinette panics, and things fall apart.<br/>---<br/>Rating mainly for language and may go up in future chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea is the combined result of good fan-art and mania. Don't know how long it will be, but enjoy it for now.  
> I originally posted this first part on my Tumblr, but the rest won't go up anywhere else besides here until it's completed.

_He’s gone_.

She’s running. There’s nothing else she can do as she blinks back tears and struggles to keep herself composed. It’s only past noon and it’s so incredibly sunny out; the slight breeze feels incredible on her heated, sweaty skin. It’s a sensation that typically soothes her to the core after a battle with an akuma, but she can’t focus on it.

What’s important is that there are people watching and she can feel herself slowly falling apart as she leaps from rooftop to rooftop. Tears have begun to leak from her eyes and she can only hope no one notices as they rain down to the Earth beneath her. She’s stopped shouting after him, but she can’t stop running. She can’t give herself a moment to collect herself. She has to keep moving.

_But he’s gone._

She’d told him to stay still. To hold on until she’d cleansed the akuma. She told him not to move and to _breathe, Chat, just breathe._

But he hadn’t listened. Or maybe it was just that he couldn’t, like he’d told her.

 _“I know,”_ he’d gasped, on his knees and claws digging into his scalp,  _“I know where he is.”_ And he’d looked up through his tears at her, his grip tightening on his hair until she was afraid he’d hurt himself. “ _Ladybug, I heard him. I–I felt him. I know who–”_

 _“Chat… what…?”_ She was frozen in that moment, her hands gently clasped around the akuma she’d just hurriedly taken from his shaking hands.

She now wishes she’d stayed close, that she hadn’t chased the decoy, that he’d never touched the akuma.

_Gone, gone, gone…_

But how could he have known? How could _either_  of them have known that he could’ve had such a violent reaction through contact with one of Hawkmoth’s infected butterflies?

As far as she’d always been aware, they were impervious to the effects of the akuma while transformed. But in the almost three years they’d been working together as Ladybug and Chat Noir, he’d never grabbed one for her. Not like he did today.

_And now he’s gone._

It was out of necessity, really. And of course there was always a first time for everything. Ladybug had been led astray during the attack–a decoy had lured her away while Chat fought against the real akuma (of course, in that moment they had no clue as to which was which)–and when her decoy vanished mid-fight, she knew Chat must’ve won.

So _of course_ he grabbed the little villainous butterfly before it could flutter away. A butterfly had never before gotten _too_ far away from her for her to reach when it was time for cleansing, but they could never be so sure.

Ladybug had been several blocks away, and the more she thinks about it the more positive she is that he didn’t want it to escape. She had just never been expecting to find him, sitting on the ground, hands clasped around the akuma, eyes wide and unseeing as he trembled.

She’d called his name as she approached, eventually yelling at him as she sprinted to his side. When she had to physically pry his hands open to retrieve the butterfly, she knew something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. And as he’d gasped for breath, falling forward onto his hands before he began sobbing and pulling at his hair, something inside her started to crack.

 _“Chat,”_ she’d yelled at him, his fear creating her own, “breathe,” she’d instructed hastily, pulling her yo-yo out in order to cleanse the akuma.  _“Breathe, Chat. Just breathe. Please.”_ _You’re scaring me_ , she’d wanted to say, but somehow she refrained.

That’s when the words tumbled out.

 _“I can’t,”_ he insisted, a clawed hand moving from his head to grip at his throat for a few seconds before digging back into his scalp,  _“I can’t breathe. I can’t–I have to go. I have to–I know what I have to do–I–you have to stay here. Stay, don’t follow me–I–”_

More words exchanged, a rushed cleansing of the akuma, and the moment her miraculous had fixed any damage taken place during their extensive battle she’d turned around only to find Chat Noir missing.

_Gone. He’s gone._

With her earrings beeping a final warning into her ears, Marinette skids onto a rooftop and scurries for a stairwell. The moment the door slams shut behind her there’s a flash of light and Tikki is directly in front of her. 

The kwami looks completely drained, but there’s this look in her eyes that sparks a new type of fear in her.

“You know what happened?” Tikki doesn’t even finish her nod before Marinette gently scoops her up, letting the exhausted kwami rest in her palms before sliding down the wall until she’s sitting on the top step. “Tell me,” she pleads, fresh tears trailing down her tired face, “please, Tikki. What happened?”

* * *

He can feel him; _sense_  him almost. Adrien knows that Hawkmoth is waiting for him the same way he knows the way the ground feels under his boots. It’s a familiar sensation despite the fact that he knows in his mind he’s never experienced this before. Yet the déjà vu is nauseating and for a moment Adrien isn’t sure he’ll actually make it without passing out.

But he does. He’s never run so fast in his life and the second that the back windows of his home–no, not his home, the _Agreste mansion_ –are in sight a new, sickening feeling blooms inside of him.

Adrien doesn’t even flinch as he extends his staff, shattering glass as he flies into the large, spacious room that takes up most of the upper level of the manor. A room that, until now, Adrien has never once set foot inside of.

But he’s not Adrien right now, he’s Chat Noir. And the reminder is quick to come to him as he feels the power surge through him as his fury increases at the sight of his target.

Hawkmoth is easy to find standing in the center of the room, hands resting lazily on his up-right cane, and as Adrien marches up to him, staff in hand and glare lethal, he can see plenty of things through his wicked grin.

He’s been expecting him, and with just one glance at his eyes, Adrien knows that _he knows_.

 _“Cataclysm!”_  He screams the word and then charges, eyes blinded with a frustrating mixture of tears and rage. It doesn’t occur to him that he shouldn’t be able to use this ability. Not even a few minutes ago he used it fighting an akuma, and he _knows_  his limit. Never before has he been able to use this power twice, but the moment his anger seized him, the impossibility of it all was pushed aside.

“Welcome home,” the all-too-familiar voice hums as Hawkmoth spreads his arms open wide, as if waiting for a hug, “ _Adrien_.”

Hand raised and crackling with power, he’s only steps away when something inside Adrien cracks and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with a slew of memories. 

His mother, standing in the foyer of their home, arms spread wide, gentle smile on her face, green eyes glowing with love. “ _Welcome home, Adrien,”_ she would always say.

And the memories bombard him one by one.

She’s standing there with welcoming arms and an incomparable warmth, greeting him with the same amount of immobilizing love in each memory. Coming home from his first day of school. With his first report card. From his first fencing tournament. His first out-of-country trip with his father.

They all lead up to the day where he last saw her, years ago, before she disappeared from his life for good. Same smile, same warmth, same embrace. And then suddenly, nothing.

Adrien’s staring forward, tears falling freely from his eyes, when his transformation gives out and suddenly he’s not Chat Noir any longer. But he can’t bring himself to care as he stares at Hawkmoth, noting how his expression does not change or falter as he gazes down at the de-powered boy before him. And again, Adrien is reminded of what he figured out the moment he stepped foot in the room:  _he knows_.

All he can bring himself to do is ask, “Father… why?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to the fanart that inspired this story is on my profile.

“It’s… complicated,” Tikki begins, her small voice barely above a whisper. She’s so tired, Marinette realizes with a small twinge of guilt, and there are no treats around to help her build back her energy.

But Tikki carries on, even speaking a bit louder to the point where her bell-like voice echo’s quietly through the stairwell. “Just like you have abilities when transformed, so does Hawkmoth. So when Hawkmoth releases an akuma, when that akuma find it's victim, and once that victim is released from the akuma’s influence, Hawkmoth eventually powers down, too. Just like you and Chat Noir.”

Marinette says nothing. This is something she’s figured out slowly over the course of the years. And although learning about the fact that Hawkmoth was a miraculous user, just like she and Chat were, was a bit jarring, it helped things make sense.

“One of the benefits of this is that when one of his akumas possess a person, he immediately receives basic information: who they are, why they’re upset, the emotions they’re feeling. Just surface stuff. It’s a two-way communication where one way can sense lots of things and heavily manipulate the other.”

“Chat wasn’t possessed though,” Marinette speaks quietly, her voice almost a whimper, “he… he almost seemed like he was in _pain_.”

“You’re right, he wasn’t possessed.” She can’t help but notice when Tikki doesn’t deny Marinette’s second observation, and her heart aches over it. “But since Chat was still transformed when he touched the akuma, it opened a different type of two-way contact. Instead of Hawkmoth learning the basics of who Chat is, Chat also learned who Hawkmoth is.”

Marinette’s eyes widen. “Why did you never tell me this?” Almost three years and several hundred akumatized people later, knowing this would’ve helped the two of them discover Hawkmoth, stop him, and save Paris from further terror.

“It’s not that simple.” Tikki reminds her, not even a little bit put off by Marinette’s betrayed look. “At first it sounds like a good idea, but it’s incredibly hazardous. It’s a _two-way_ connection,” she reminds her with a pointed look, “so it gives Hawkmoth your identity, which sacrifices your anonymity and puts you in serious danger. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.” In response to Marinette’s glare, she gives a stern look of her own. “I’ve been doing this for thousands of years and it’s safer this way; trust me. That’s why I never told you. The temptation of discovering the identity of whoever Hawkmoth is is always too tempting for some Ladybugs to resist.” Tikki’s face falls slightly at that statement. “It never ends well,” she whispers.

Marinette is silent for a long moment, taking it all in and letting her frustration dissipate. Tikki’s right, like always. “That’s why you told me not to touch the akuma when I first became Ladybug.”

The little red kwami nods. “Only with your lucky charm. Yes, and I assume Plagg did the same with Chat. He must’ve simply been caught up in the moment.”

The miraculous user blinks. “Plagg?” She pauses, “Is that Chat’s kwami?” Tikki nods in confirmation, and Marinette brightens at the information. “Do you have any way of getting in touch with him? Of tracking him? Anything?!” And when Tikki shakes her head, she wants to scream. “What do we do then?! He’s running off to find Hawkmoth! He could be in trouble! Chat’s already weakened from our fight; Hawkmoth could be taking his miraculous right now!”

“I know.”

And the admission, although honest, makes Marinette’s slowly cracking composure shatter entirely. When her tears begin to fall with new ferocity, she pulls her knees up so that she can rest her head against them, still holding Tikki gently in the palm of her hands before her.

She doesn’t know what to do. She can’t use her lucky charm and magically get a good idea of what to do to defeat the enemy. There is no quick fix to this, and because of it her anxiety is rising slowly and it’s _suffocating_. She feels as if she’s trapped in a room with no windows, no doors, and the water is getting higher and higher around her.

“But Marinette,” Tikki speaks up after a long, miserable moment, “the link that forms with an akuma doesn’t give out location.”

Sniffling, she lifts her head and wipes her face as best as she can on her shoulder. “Just basics,” she grumbles, “like _identities_.”

“Exactly,” the kwami confirms, “but that’s just the thing: Chat would have no idea where to go to find Hawkmoth.”

The realization is slow to come to her but when it hits her, Marinette finds herself shooting back onto her feet. “So… so Chat could simply be running around Paris aimlessly?”

“That, or…” Tikki doesn’t look as optimistic as Marinette feels and that little fact puts a pretty massive dent in her excitement, “Chat knows whoever Hawkmoth is. Personally.”

And somehow that revelation is much, much worse.

* * *

 

There’s this disconnect in his head. Adrien is incredibly aware of it but it doesn’t make it any easier to understand; if anything it makes the dissociation more difficult to deal with.

Part of him knows exactly what’s going on as he stares Hawkmoth—no, his father, it’s his _father_ —in the eyes, his tear-filled glare unrelenting as he gasps with rage.

For a moment he’s not in his body, he’s merely a spectator standing outside of himself and watching as he seethes. There’s a numbness spreading through his mind and god, he feels so dizzy.

_This can’t be happening._

“Chat Noir,” he speaks, amusement more evident in his tone than in his smile, “and my own son, one in the same. Who would’ve guessed?”

“Why?” He spits out again, tears overflowing and burning trails down his cheeks. He knew his father was distant, sometimes cold even, but he never, in a thousand lifetimes would’ve guessed that Gabriel Agreste was Hawkmoth.

Putting Adrien on the backburner for work was one thing, but in order to terrorize Paris? Exploiting and manipulating emotionally compromised people in order to do so? Adrien felt nauseous and subconsciously wrapped an arm around his abdomen, willing the sickness in his stomach to go away.

It takes him several seconds to realize that his father is still simply staring at him, a sick smile on his face.

“ _Why_?” The question comes out more like a demand now, and as more tears spill, he finally answers.

“To bring her back, of course.”

Adrien plays the words back to himself multiple times, waiting for them to make sense. _To bring her back_.

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head in horror as he discovers the meaning of his father’s words, “ _no!_ ”

“But Adrien,” and he wants to slap his hands over his ears; he doesn’t want to hear the gentle tone of his father’s voice as he speaks through Hawkmoth’s mouth. But they’re one in the same, he reminds himself, and his nausea spikes as he struggles to listen. “Wouldn’t you like to see her?”

“But you—Dad, you can’t. She’s d—“ Adrien chokes on his words. His throat is so dry that he attempts to swallow but the lump won’t leave. “She’s gone,” he eventually finishes, finally looking away. This isn’t something they’ve ever talked about, the loss of his mother. He’s wanted to, ever since she died and his father turned cold and unaffectionate, but it’s never been a subject he’s been able to breach.

And it’s certainly not one he wants to while his father is still staring back at him through his Hawkmoth transformation.

“Ah, but not for long,” Hawkmoth purrs, a strange happiness in his tone and Adrien can’t help but cringe at the misplaced optimism. “All I need are the last of the Miraculous.”

Adrien flinches back at that, taking several steps away as he holds his hand to his chest, gripping his ring so tightly that it hurts. And then he gasps, one hand reaching toward his neckline as fear strikes him. But thankfully there, hiding away in his collar, energy spent and shaking like a leaf, is Plagg. The relief floods through him and Adrien is sure that at this rate, his tears are not going to disappear any time soon.

Hawkmoth isn’t blind to his movements and lets out a quick, harsh laugh when he spots the relief in his shoulders. “Don’t worry, son. I’m not going to take your miraculous right now. I don’t need it yet.”

“You can’t have him, not ever!” His voice is hoarse but he pulls together another glare to shoot his father. He’s sure he looks utterly pitiful, face red and teary, but he refuses to back down. Nothing in this world could get him to hand over Plagg.

He chuckles again while Adrien takes a couple more careful steps backward. “I don’t need your kwami either. Not yet,” he repeats. “It wouldn’t do me any good at this rate. Not without the other one.”

With the mention of his lady, Adrien can’t help it when he _explodes_.

“Leave her alone!” He screams, spit and tears flying as he storms back up toward his father. He sees red and for a moment he thinks he might actually pull a fist back and strike his father, but at the last second, he refrains. It won’t help. It won’t do anything and it will put him far too close to his father’s grasp.

Stumbling back a bit, he once more clutches one hand to where Plagg hides and grips his ring tighter.

Hawkmoth looks entirely too pleased at Adrien’s outburst, and the look of satisfaction on his father’s masked face terrifies him.

“Oh, I won’t be taking her miraculous on my own…” he chuckles darkly again and Adrien’s heart drops further.

“I—I’ll tell!” He speaks suddenly, utterly petrified for his lady. He has to keep her safe. He _can’t_ let any harm come to her. He’d die before she ever gets the chance to be hurt. “I’ll tell everyone that it’s you who’s terrorizing Paris! They’ll put you away!”

“Adrien, my son.” The serpentine smile is back. “No one will believe you. They’ll call you crazy. They’ll put _you_ away.”

“Then I’ll—I’ll just tell them who I am!” Adrien knows the words are a lie; he _can’t_ come forward with his identity, not if he wants to continue to keep Paris safe. If the public knew that Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir it would make his friends at school potential targets of countless terrorists and criminals, not just Hawkmoth.

Hawkmoth knows it’s a fib, too. “No, you won’t.” And the grin grows wider. “Listen Adrien,” he begins, turning to glance at a white butterfly that has perched on his shoulder, “I’m not going to force you to do anything. If you want to tell, then tell. But know that the consequences will most likely ruin your life.” His father looks almost sad in that moment, as if it’s the very last thing he wants for his son, and Adrien forces himself to look away. He can’t witness any compassion or any shred of empathy from this man if he wants to retain his sanity.

But he listens to his words regardless.

“If you want to ignore the fact that you know who I am, then do so. Keep fighting me alongside Ladybug. She’ll eventually figure out who I am, and when she does she’ll discover who _you_ are.” He clicks his tongue in disapproval and Adrien bites the inside of his cheek. “And when she figures out you’re the son of Hawkmoth? What will she think of you then?”

His teeth break the skin and suddenly Adrien tastes blood.

“She’s going to get hurt, Adrien,” Hawkmoth is suddenly gravely serious, and Adrien pretends to ignore the concern in his tone. “You can’t protect her.”

“Yes I can,” he attempts to snap back, but his stubbornness only comes across as quiet, pitiful.

“You’ll try, I know you will. You’ve made it no secret to Paris how you feel about that partner of yours. Not a smart move, Adrien.” The reprimand is familiar in tone, and Adrien hates the patronizing sound. “As long as she has her miraculous, she’s going to be in danger. Your mother…” he pauses, inhales deeply and closes his eyes, before beginning again, “I can bring her back. You can have her back. You can keep your Ladybug safe. You can continue living your life. It’s all possible. The only cost is your miraculous’, and then we can be a family again.”

“So that’s it? That’s why you’ve been trying to get our miraculous?” Adrien feels dizzy. His father is speaking to something inside of him, a yearning that’s only been growing for years now, and despite his misery he can’t quite ignore him anymore. “That’s the only reason you’ve been akumatizing people?”

“Of course, my son. What other reason would I have to possess others?” Hawkmoth’s expression softens and the sight almost causes Adrien to fully break. “I’m sorry,” he confesses quietly, holding Adrien’s gaze, “I’m sorry I haven’t spent much time with you. Between work and,” he waves a hand around him, “ _this_ , I’ve been too busy for you. But look Adrien, this is for you. For us. For our _family_.”

“She can’t be brought back,” he whispers, staring with wide, crying eyes at a cluster of butterflies flying around him, “it’s impossible, Dad.”

“That’s not true, Adrien. With the magic of the Miraculous, it can be done. Trust me. I have done limitless research and spent vast amounts of money searching for a way. Ask your kwami even. I am not lying to you.” He begins to approach Adrien and he can’t even bring it in himself to move. He doesn’t look away from the butterflies as his father lays a hand on his shoulder, but he does flinch. “It is destiny that you’re both Chat Noir and my son. It is destiny that the key to bringing your mother back lies in your hands and in the possession of the girl you love. _That_ , Adrien, is not a lie. That is destiny.”

There is a flash and Adrien’s heart stops. He doesn’t move his gaze on purpose, but it is simply a reaction. When he glances up at Hawkmoth and sees nothing more than his father’s face staring back at him, he crumples to the ground, still staring up at his father as his knees hit the tile.

“We can be a family again,” Gabriel Agreste speaks, looking pristine and proper as ever, folding his hands behind his back and giving his son an affectionate smile.

It’s the first one Adrien has seen in years and he can’t help but cry openly.

His sobs echo off the walls of the room as he cries into his hands, no longer caring about what his father—Hawkmoth, his brain shouts at him, _Hawkmoth_ —sees.

“Take time to process this,” Gabriel eventually speaks. Adrien can’t see him but he can hear as he turns and begins to walk away, the sound of his shoes _clicking_ against the tile. “You know where to find me.”

His world is crashing down around him, Adrien idly realizes as he begins to hyperventilate on the floor of Hawkmoth’s lair. Becoming Chat Noir was a gift; the greatest one he’d ever received. Meeting Ladybug changed his life. Being able to express himself freely and openly while fluttering across rooftops with the girl he loved was the most exhilarating thing in the world. It had all been incredible.

But at first it had been an escape. It had helped him forget what had happened to his mother.

And now, he can have her back.

The last thing Adrien hears before the sound of a door closing reaches his ears is a quiet, “I’ll be waiting.”

After that, he runs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the reveals continue, one at a time.

She should run back to school, flutter in with one of her quickly-formulated excuses and scoot in next to Alya. She knows that even with post-akuma relief there’s the panic that lingers until everyone’s friends and family are fully accounted for. So when she simply scurries past the large building not as Ladybug, but as Marinette, she feels a slight twinge of guilt; she _knows_ Alya and her friends are going to be worried if she doesn’t return.

But she also knows that it won't be completely out-of-the-ordinary for her to simply go home and return to school the next day, instead. Akuma attacks are stressful, scary, and exhausting. Not just for Ladybug and Chat Noir, but for the civilians that are terrorized, too. So as she runs by, she’s content to let them worry for the next couple hours.

Only she doesn’t return home. Instead she goes to a very familiar apartment complex, and waits.

It’s not an easy thing, what she’s about to do. She’s still running purely on a sickening combination of fear and adrenaline. Fear that Chat could not only be in danger, but that she could be too late to save him. She’s so tired. So the decision she came to was both an easy one and at the same time, a nearly impossible one.

Ladybug needed help. Which meant only one thing had to happen now…

Eleven minutes, almost down to the very _second_  after school lets out, Alya is flying up the stairs and nearly collides straight into Marinette where she waits in the landing right outside Alya’s floor.

“Marinette! Where have you—“

The dark-haired girl simply grabs her friend’s hand and pulls her as she continues to climb the stairs, two at a time. Alya is incredibly vocal with her confusion, even pulling back against Marinette’s hand as they make their way toward the roof, but Marinette channels a little bit of Ladybug in those moments, and pulling a struggling Alya behind her is simply too easy.

“Listen to me— _Marinette!_ ” Her friend shrieks as they finally spill out into the roof and Marinette releases her hand. “Damn! Just hold on a second, what the hell has gotten into you? We’ve been worried. You left your phone and all your stuff at school and just didn’t come back. I even stopped by your house and your Dad had no idea where you were.” She gestures to the additional bag she has slung over her shoulder; Marinette’s bag. Tossing it to her, she frowns when she doesn’t even attempt to catch it. The sound of books and pens hitting the pavement makes Alya’s expression turn from annoyed to worried. “What’s going on?”

Swallowing the lump in her throat is easier said than done, and for a few agonizingly long seconds, Marinette doesn’t know where to begin. She isn’t even sure she’ll be able to get the words out. She can feel the warmth of Tikki through both the fabric of her pants and tiny purse. The comfort is enough, even as her kwami’s terrifying words resonate through her skull.

 _“What you do from here on out,”_ Tikki had spoken before they’d taken off toward Alya’s to wait, “ _will determine the future of Paris. Of France. Even of Europe. This is where things always get thrown up in the air. What happens now is all up to you and to Chat.”_ The tiny kwami had looked utterly destroyed as she spoke, but Marinette could feel the weight of the words. “ _All I can do now is offer encouragement. I had hoped that it would be another several years before something of this caliber would happen—you and Chat are still so new at this—but it looks like destiny had other plans. Act quickly Marinette. There isn’t much time. I can feel it...”_

“Alya,” she rasps quietly, voice shaking, and before she knows it she is dangerously close to tears once more, “I need help.”

“Oh, honey,” her friend is at her side in a minute, pulling her into a tight hug and rubbing her back, “it’s okay. You have me, alright? But you’re scaring me. You need to tell me what the _hell_ is going on, okay?”

“I—I—“ she’s so scared and she can’t say it, so all she does it reach down and unclasp her bag. When Tikki flies out, Alya jumps, stumbling back a step as she keeps her eyes trained on the tiny red kwami as she pauses to rest on Marinette’s shoulder.

That’s when Marinette’s tears resurface.

“Mari,” Alya begins, voice quiet and slow, “what… is that?”

For a moment, Marinette doesn’t say anything. This is the first step that will determine their futures and there are two very specific, very different outcomes that can happen.

Either Alya can remain the friend Marinette’s always known and loved and help her out, Ladybug or not.

Or…

Alya’s love and obsession over Ladybug will warp and change the dynamics of their friendship for good, and by the time supper time rolls around, the entire world could know of her identity.

The realization must be coming over her, because Marinette watches as Alya slowly… very, very slowly… tenses up. With wide eyes and shaking arms, she places her hands over her mouth and backs up until she’s pressed against the door.

“You’re _kidding_ me,” she breathes, eyes full of wonder as she glances from Tikki and back to her, “you’re  _joking_ with me right now. Right Marinette? This is a joke, right? With smoke and mirrors and... and…”

“Chat’s in trouble,” is the only thing she can think to say, because it’s still the only thing that _matters_ , “and I need your help.” But Alya still stares, unmoving as she mutters muffled, unintelligible things through her cupped hands. Marinette shares a quick look with Tikki and the kwami just nods.

She can only hold her transformation for about fifteen seconds—Tikki is still so drained of energy and Marinette hasn’t gotten her anything to build back her energy—so when she de-transforms and Tikki gets spit out of her earrings, she catches her with the utmost care.

“Holy shit,” is all Alya says for about a minute, and then after that, “is it—is that thing okay?”

Marinette kneels down and begins to dig through her backpack that Alya had thankfully brought. Retrieving a small plastic wrapper, she rips it open and immediately hands Tikki a tiny pasty. “She’ll be okay. I just haven’t been able to feed her,” she’s too afraid to look her friend in the eye as she speaks, so instead she keeps her eyes glued on her precious red friend. “She’s exhausted. We both are.”

Alya is silent for another moment, her eyes darting around to ensure that their moment remained private, before she reaches forward and once more throws Marinette’s backpack over her shoulder. “Come on,” she grabs Marinette’s hand and begins pulling her back toward the stairwell, “ _hurry_.”

It’s not quieter in Alya’s apartment—her father is home with two of her youngest siblings, and noise is always a constant in the Césaire household—but it is preferable to the roof.

She feels rude as she walks by—or, is dragged by, more appropriately—without waving hello or shooting Alya’s father a greeting, although in her state she isn’t sure she’s able to fake pleasantries without looking suspicious.

“Don’t interrupt! Boy troubles! We need privacy! Love you Papa talk to you later, _bye_!” Alya shouts this all as they hurry through the apartment, ignoring curious glances and small children happy at the sight of Marinette. If this situation weren’t so terrifying, she’d be inclined to find her statement funny. _Boy troubles_.

She wasn’t exactly wrong.

Slamming the door to the bedroom she shares with one sister, Alya tosses their backpacks on her bed, scurries over to her radio, and begins to play the first radio station she finds. Marinette is clutching Tikki to her chest tightly, and watches her best friend move as a pleasantly surprised feeling wells up inside her. It’s clear what she’s doing, as she closes the blinds, locks the door, and actually _turns off her phone_ , something Marinette is positive she’s never seen the obsessive blogger do.

Alya would understand how vital complete privacy is right now.

“Holy shit,” Alya eventually says, the words coming out in a quick breath, “holy fucking _shit_ , Marinette!”

“Alya.” Marinette says the word dumbly. Never in her life has she heard Alya say anything crass before today. In fact, Alya was typically the one to scold _her_ when she lets profanity slip.

“You’re Ladybug. Marinette, you’re _Ladybug_!”

“Yeah,” she rasps, because the words sound so strange to hear out loud that she can only bring herself to nod and stare at her friend. “Yeah.”

“God, it’s just—I’m sorry Mari but I’m so—I’m shocked! I just… I had no idea.” Her friend looks at her, scrutinizing every part of her physical appearance. Then, her eyes shift to one of the Ladybug posters on the wall, and then back to her. Her eyes widen. “Holy shit,” she repeats, “it _is_ you! I can’t believe I never saw it before! Always disappearing during an akuma attack, not being even the slightest bit _afraid_ during an akuma attack, that time you called Manon her name while we were trapped in that carousel as if you’d like, forgotten that you were talking to her as Ladybug—“

“Alya,” she knows her friend’s shock is going to be hard to ebb, but she has to try, “I’m sorry but I don’t have time right now. Maybe after I take care of all this but—“

“Chat’s in trouble,” Alya shakes her head, rubbing her temples as she closes her eyes, “ah, I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m just in shock I think.” She backs up until she’s sitting on her bed and then looks up at Marinette. “What happened? I didn’t get to you guys in time with my phone so I didn’t get to see much of this attack.”

“Hawkmoth, he—“ and Marinette pauses for a second, “you know who that is right?”

Alya bites back a scoff. “Girl, I know everything it is to know about what you do. Well,” her expression deflates slightly as she gestures to her friend, “ _almost_ everything. But yes. He’s the guy that possesses people for some reason.”

“I think Chat went off on his own to fight him.”

Alya eyes widen, “You guys know where he is?”

“No, not really. It’s just—it’s complicated, but Chat accidentally grabbed an akuma and—you know, the butterflies that I cleanse?—and we’re not supposed to do that because of safety things but Chat must’ve forgotten because he did and now he knows Hawkmoth’s identity and Hawkmoth knows his because of some complicated possession thing and, and…”

Marinette forces herself to stop talking and breathe. A sob starts building up in her chest and once more she finds herself absolutely terrified for her partner.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Alya’s at her side in an instant, leading her to sit on her bed as she rubs reassuring circles on her back, “it’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” she shakes her head, frustration mounting, “I can’t get upset right now. It’s a waste of time and Chat needs me.” But despite her words, tears still slip past her defenses.

“Mari, girl. What do you need me for then? I—I’m not like you, I don’t have superpowers and all that!”

“But you have information,” she insists, “there’s no one else—reporter, investigator, politician, _anyone_ —who has worked as hard to get as much information about Chat and I. Especially our identities.”

“Yeah but I had _no clue_ it was you!”

Marinette gives her friend a sheepish look. “Well, it didn’t help that I’ve had to mislead you a couple times. You got really close, really often, Alya. Too close.”

Her friend looks astonished at that admission. “So what do you need me for?”

Swallowing the lump in her throat doesn’t work, so her voice is thick and heavy when she finally speaks. “I need to find out Chat Noir’s identity. As soon as possible.”

Before he finds Hawkmoth and engages in a fight he may never win. Before his miraculous gets taken away. Before the akumas start coming for her, two at a time.

Before it’s too late.

* * *

 

Since he can’t transform—Plagg is too tired and there’s no way he could hold a transformation for even a minute at this rate—he simply runs on his own two feet, as Adrien, not as Chat Noir.

He knows people are staring at him, looking at him with worried eyes and whispering with hushed tones at their friends and companions. But Adrien doesn’t care that they’re staring or that they most likely know who he is, or at the very least recognize him from some advertisement or poster or magazine.

He simply runs as fast as his exhausted legs can carry him, with nothing but the clothes on his back and Plagg tucked away into his collar.

Turning around corners and down alley ways he runs and runs until the burning in his legs becomes absolutely unbearable and he knows he can’t continue anymore. When he finally stops he realizes, with strange relief, that he has no idea where he is. And it’s with that awareness that he scurries around another corner, down another narrow alley, and collapses behind a dumpster.

The moment his hands land on the cobblestone beneath him he wretches, violently emptying his stomach of all its contents.

His head is now pounding mercilessly as he spits onto the pavement, wishing that the taste of bile would leave his mouth completely. He’s so miserable in that moment that all he wants to do is sit by and watch as the world swallows him whole. He’s never been suicidal before, but the prospect of death is a tempting notion that he doesn’t immediately dismiss.

At least not until he thinks about Ladybug.

“I can’t tell her,” he rasps, gasping as he tries to catch his breath. He shuffles away from where he emptied his stomach and leans back against the brick of a building. “Plagg, I can’t tell her.”

He waits three seconds, and then another two, but when he hears no reply his eyes snap open and his hands fly toward his collar as panic seizes him.

“Plagg? _Plagg_?!” He shoots up onto his feet, eyes darting around the lane. His father hadn’t taken him, there was no way. Plagg was with him just _minutes_ ago, hiding safely away in his collar. Or at least, he thought he’d been…

“Kid, I’m right here,” and Plagg is before his eyes suddenly, a hunk of cheese bigger than his head in his arms, “it’s okay, Adrien. There’s a market next door, I had to go grab some cheese. It’s alright.”

Lacing his fingers over the top of his head, Adrien gasps painfully as the relief strikes him like a truck. Determined not to hyperventilate he keeps his arms lifted high and collapses again against the brick wall, sinking until he's back on the ground.

“I can’t tell her, Plagg,” he repeats. “Ladybug, I can’t tell her.”

Between bites of whatever pale, crumbly cheese he's rushing through eating, Plagg blinks at him. “Tell her what, specifically?”

“Anything,” he cries, turning his head to place his cheek against the brick. In the shade of the alley, it's cool against his skin, not entirely uncomfortable. “I can’t tell her what happened. I can’t tell her I went to find him. I can’t tell her who he is. I just… I just _can’t_.”

“Kid,” Plagg begins after a few thoughtful seconds, mouthful of cheese, “do you think she’s just sitting by, waiting for you to come back?” He swallows deeply, making a small, satisfied noise, before answering for him, “Of course not. Knowing your Ladybug, she’s probably running herself ragged looking for you right now.”

“She can’t find out.” Adrien repeats desperately, watching through blurry eyes as Plagg sits himself on his knee.

“Any why not?” Plagg asks genuinely. “We could use her help. We know who Hawkmoth is. We know where his lair is. Honestly I’m surprised I didn’t figure it out before,” he mutters before taking in another mouthful of cheese.

“So you didn’t know?”

The kwami scoffs, “Of course not! Now, Fu? He might’ve known. It would make sense as to why he chose you to be the next Chat Noir, but it doesn’t make much sense to me.” He shrugs, takes another bite of cheese and says, “Who am I to question ‘ _destiny_ ’?”

Adrien can’t see him roll his eyes but he knows it’s to be assumed. “He’s not serious though, is he? About—about…” but he can’t bring himself to say it. About how his father somehow gained possession of an akuma. About how his father has been terrorizing Paris for over two years.

About how his father is trying to _bring his mother back from the dead_.

“He seems serious,” Plagg says, “and it would make sense. As a motive, I mean.”

“That’s not even possible, is it?” When Plagg doesn’t immediately reply, Adrien’s heart clenches uncomfortably in his chest. “Plagg… can the magic of the miraculous bring back the dead?”

“In a way, yes.”

And just like that, all the breath leaves Adrien’s body.

“But it’s not that simple. Reanimating people _isn’t_ _that easy_. And it never works the way it’s supposed to.”

“It’s been _done_?” Adrien seems appalled at the thought and his stomach churns again.

“Kid, I’ve been around for thousands of years. You ever heard of ancient Egypt? A pharaoh got a hold of _four_ of us once. I was without a chosen for almost 200 years, being used to bring countless people back from the dead until one day the man using us just vanished.” He pops the last piece of cheese in his mouth and shrugs. “Next thing I knew I was in East Asia. Don’t know how. But it was almost another three thousand years before someone else figured out it was possible.” As Adrien opens his mouth to speak, Plagg cuts him off. “We don’t _tell_ people about that for a reason.”

“But you’re telling me that it’s possible to bring back people from the dead!” He exclaims before looking around anxiously. When he speaks again his voice is notably lower. “My father is trying to bring my mother back from the dead. Sorry it that upsets me.”

“What’s important is that he in _no way_ gets a hold of me,” Plagg growls, the sound so very cat-like. “The kwami he has now was missing for almost a hundred years before he showed up and started using her powers the way he is. I don’t know where he found her, but he shouldn’t have her.” Plagg was silent for a long moment, face scrunched up as he thought. “How long has your mom been gone, kid?”

Adrien frowns. “It’ll be four years this December.”

“And I’ve been with you almost three. I guess that makes sense,” he grumbles quietly for a few seconds, “I guess if you’ve got as much money and power as your father, finding a missing kwami _and_ its miraculous isn’t such a hard thing to do in a year.”

“He’s not going to get you,” Adrien vows, “I’m not going to let him.”

“And if he tries taking me from you?” Plagg counters. “What if he uses force?”

“He _won’t_ ,” Adrien can’t help it when he snaps at his kwami, because this is his _father_ they’re talking about. Sure, he’s a bit distant, and yeah, maybe Adrien has found himself doubting that the man even cares about him on more than one occasion, but it’s his _father_. He loves his father. And his father loves him, too.

Even so, doubt prods at him, and his has to push his pessimism away.

“You heard what he said Adrien, not _yet_. I don’t think you’re taking this as seriously as you need to.”

“Stop it, Plagg,” he snaps again, standing up abruptly, “I just found out that Hawkmoth is my dad! That he wants my _dead mom back_! That he needs my miraculous to do it, and Ladybug’s too! Of course I’m taking it seriously!”

Plagg sighs, rubbing his cheeks with his tiny hands. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, kid. But we’re going to need Ladybug’s help with this. Not that I don’t think you can take care of it, but you two are a team, right?”

“No,” he doesn’t even think twice. “I have to protect her. You heard Hawkm—my dad. She’s going to get hurt if I don’t get her miraculous. But he’s not going to get her miraculous. He's not going to get _mine_. I’m not going to let her get hurt. _No one_ is getting hurt!”

“Kid…”

“I can handle this,” Adrien insists, wiping away any leftover tears and spit from his face before lacing his hands behind his neck and sighing, “I can, okay? I don’t know how, but I’m going to figure it out. I’ll figure it out, I will. Don’t look at me like that.”

“This isn’t a good idea, Adrien.”

He can count on one hand the amount of times Plagg has ever looked as serious as he does now, but he forces himself to look away from his kwami. No. He can do this. He can protect her. He can reach his dad. It’ll all work out.

Bad luck be damned.

* * *

 

He skips school the next day and when Nathalie doesn’t come looking for him—he already has a well-formulated ‘sick day’ excuse to use as he waits for the knock on his door that never comes—he’s more concerned than relieved.

If Nathalie didn’t come looking for him that means his father told her not to. Which means his father knows he’s planning to skip. Which means his father could be watching his every move.

Paranoia taking over for a couple hours, Adrien spends the entire morning digging through his bedroom, nearly ripping it to shreds as he searches for something. To find his room bugged, maybe? A hidden camera placed someone inconspicuous?

He doesn’t tell Plagg what he’s doing when he starts pulling books from shelves and ripping every article of clothing out of his closet, but he’s sure his kwami has figured it out. He doesn’t stop the teenager though, he only sits high up in a corner and watches, concern etched into every inch of his tiny face.

Adrien ultimately comes up empty handed—“I could’ve told you you weren’t going to find everything.” Plagg grumbles quietly when he’s done—and with the constant reminder floating through his thoughts that _his father is Hawkmoth_ , it makes him wonder what he can or can’t see on a regular basis.

But when he’d grabbed that akuma as Chat Noir his father’s surprise at his identity was potent. He hadn’t known. It’s a slightly comforting thought but it doesn’t last or bring him any real peace.

There is still a very real danger at hand.

And his name is Gabriel Agreste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no set update schedule for this fic. Only random updates I can post when a combination of inspiration and mania strikes. But I will say that so far this story is looking like it will at least be 50k. Hope that's to everyone's liking.  
> So strap in folks.  
> It's going to be a bumpy ride.


	4. Chapter 4

The entire weekend is entirely uneventful, oddly quiet, and this stresses Adrien out to no end. Nathalie doesn’t disrupt him, his father doesn’t request his presence, and there are no akuma attacks. Nino texts him a few times, but Adrien can’t bring himself to reply to a single one. Even the one where Nino asks to drop off his bag at his house; Adrien had left it at school following the events that unfolded on Thursday afternoon.

He feels the troubling sensation of guilt rise within him each time he gets a text, but he simply ignores it and turns off his phone completely. He doesn’t know what his father has access to, and if he can see his texts and learn who he’s friends with, that means they might not be safe.

It’s not that he absolutely _distrusts_ his father (or at least he tells himself this), but he can’t be completely and entirely trusting of him either. Not by a long shot. Hawkmoth is a cruel, unforgiving person who preys on the emotionally compromised. He’s having a hard time comparing that to the man who helped raised him. Hell, he's even always used humane mouse traps, because according to him killing the rodents was deemed “cruel and unnecessary”.

They didn’t even own a fly swatter.

He tries to merge the two as one in his head and it simply doesn’t work. The two may be one in the same but it still makes no sense to him.

It’s Sunday evening when a knock on his door makes him jump.

“Adrien,” Nathalie speaks through his door, not bothering to wait for him to answer, “your father requests your presence in the dining room.” There’s a pause. “Dinner is ready.”

It’s the first meal he’s been summoned for in three days and Adrien is petrified.

Plagg goes to jump into his collar but Adrien raises his hands and covers his neck. “No, stay here. I’ll be okay.”

It takes him almost ten minutes before he walks into the dining room, and his father—seemingly not waiting around for someone who takes 4 times longer to arrive to dinner than it should—has already begun to eat.

“Adrien,” his voice is polite, if not pleased at his appearance, “I was wondering if you were going to show.”

He doesn’t move from his spot in the doorway but he does look around to notice that they are utterly alone.

“Please,” he speaks again, “have a seat. You’re letting your food get cold.”

He doesn’t want to sit across from his father—it’s far too close for his liking—but it’s where they’ve set up a place for him. And he’s not about to pick up his plate and utensils and move farther down the too-long table.

He doesn’t want his dad to _know_ that he may or may not trust him, so without complaint, he sits.

Adrien’s not hungry; really, he hasn’t been hungry in days. The only time he leaves his room is to sneak into the kitchen to get cheese for Plagg because he’s afraid to let his kwami wander the house alone, now. (He’ll also grab an apple or something else light, which he then forces himself to eat.)

Even so, he lifts his fork and begins to eat the food that’s been placed in front of him almost mechanically.

His anxiety is giving him a headache; it’s been almost ten minutes and Gabriel has still yet to say a single word to his son. Eventually he stops eating, only taking sips of his water every minute or so as he stares down at the meal he knows he can’t finish. He’s too afraid it’ll come back up later, when he’s back in the safety of his room.

“So, have you given any thought to our conversation from Thursday?”

Ever the businessman, Gabriel Agreste starts the conversation as if he was at a meeting, conversing with potential clients or global retailers. Adrien doesn’t look up, instead keeping his eyes on his untouched peas.

“Yeah,” he mutters quietly, a hand falling to grip his knee tightly.

“Good,” Gabriel nods pensively, taking another bite of his food and chewing slowly. After he swallows he looks at his son and Adrien can simply _feel_ his blue eyes boring into his skull. “And?”

“I’m not giving you my miraculous.”

Gabriel makes a small noise that sounds a bit like a scoff. “That’s not what was discussed, Adrien.” His tone is far too patronizing and Adrien hates it. “I already told you I didn’t need it.”

 _Yet_ , Adrien adds on silently, glaring at his food.

“I’m not helping you get Ladybug’s either.”

The man nods again, “Very well.” He sighs, “I assumed you wouldn’t, but again, I did hope you would come to your senses.”

Adrien blinks and finally lifts his gaze to meet his father’s own. “What now, then?”

His father frowns. “You don’t need to be afraid of me, son.” Adrien winces and opens his mouth but he’s cut off. “Do not bother, I can see it in your eyes. I could feel it when the akuma linked us. You hate Hawkmoth and now you’re afraid of me.”

“It’s hard not to hate Hawkmoth,” Adrien dares to speak, frustrated at the way the conversation is playing out, “he preys on vulnerable people and attacks Paris.”

“Ah, so I see we indeed have different opinions there.”

For some reason, the statement makes him snap.

“Different opinions?” Adrien wants to laugh, so he does. It’s a harsh, cold sound; a type of dark laugh that he’s never heard himself make before. “You manipulate people! You turn them into monsters! Monsters that destroy things! Hurt people! What other opinion is there to have?!”

“Sit down, Adrien,” and that’s when he realizes he’s standing. In his frustration he must’ve jumped to his feet, and his father’s disapproving look almost causes him to apologize. Almost. “It is clear that you still do not understand.”

He seethes at that, “Then help me understand, _father_.” He doesn’t break the glare, but he does sit.

“I already told you the purpose of my mission. It is for us. To bring your mother back. In case you are unaware, yours and Ladybug’s miraculous’ are linked. Two halves to a whole. Separated, your magic and abilities are not anything short of impressive, but together,” he breathes in deeply, as if excited by this thought, “their power is incredible. Unrivaled. It can move mountains and relocate oceans. The power of _gods_ , Adrien.”

As his father speaks, he closes his fist tightly around his ring, lowering his hands into his lap where he father cannot see the miraculous. He doesn’t like the fact that his curiosity has been captivated by the story and he is clinging to each word his father speaks. But it is. And he does.

These are things Plagg would never, in any world, tell him. And the fact that they are, in a way, forbidden makes them hard to ignore.

“How do you know this?” He chooses his words carefully, studying his father’s expressions closely.

“Intensive research. Throughout my life I’ve been fortunate enough to travel from continent to continent and spend time in hundreds of different countries. In many of them, Miraculous’ were nothing more than a myth, in some, they were revered like the gods they are.

“Chat Noir is new to Paris. Ladybug, however, has been in Paris for at least a hundred years. Through different personas and generations, but France has always been her home in this century. When I was your age, we had a Ladybug of our own. Chat Noir though,” Adrien stiffens as he feels his father scrutinizing him, “is a very new addition. But,” he gives half of a shrug, “it probably doesn’t help that your alter-ego only showed up after I obtained and began using my own miraculous. But for Fu to choose my own son,” he clicks his tongue at this, as if disapproving of the choice, “is an unprecedented turn of events. Convenient, yet complicated.”

“You know Fu?” He doesn’t mean to blurt it out, but he can’t help it. “I thought you stole your miraculous.”

“Found,” Gabriel corrects sternly. “He simply wanted to know how I’d found it. I told him, and that was that.”

“And he just… let you keep it?”

“It’s not like he could take it from me,” he adds, “that man seems to have a very… strange moral code set in place. Which is especially apparent now that I see who Chat Noir ended up being. I don’t know why he left two teenagers in the possession of quantic gods, but he must be some sort of fool.”

He doesn’t want to agree with that statement, but he has to admit his father has a point.

“But what do you expect now?” He asks, desperate to find out what his father is planning. “If I’m not going to give you my miraculous, or Ladybug’s, what do you plan on doing?”

“As for now? I’ll continue doing what I’ve been doing. And I assume you’ll do the same.” Wiping his mouth with a pristine, white napkin, he then folds the fabric neatly on top of his empty plate. Even discussing his supervillain plans, he’s as proper and official as ever. “We can keep playing this game, although I will admit it’s growing very tiring after these past couple of years. My akumas will continue to possess people in hopes of drawing you and Ladybug out, which it will, and you will battle them, like you always do. Your Ladybug’s luck can only last so long, Adrien. It is only a matter of time before one of my possessions is successful or one of you are hurt.” His ice-colored eyes lock him in place with that statement. “And I do _not_ want you hurt.”

“Then stop releasing akumas!” He pleads, wishing that it could be that easy. That he could simply ask nicely enough and he’d get through to his father. But it’s all just wishful thinking.

“Then hand me yours and Ladybug’s miraculous,” Gabriel counters coolly.

“You know why I can’t do that,” Adrien replies through gritted teeth with downcast eyes.

“And that goes for me, as well.” The sound of his chair moving across the floor causes Adrien to lift his eyes, meeting his father’s gaze once more. “Whether you tell your Ladybug all of this or not, does not matter. Just know that things can be painless if you simply consider my offer and both comply.” As he stands he manages to pull a gentle look on his face—Adrien almost looks away at the compassion in his eyes. “Just know that you can have your mother back, if only you’d cooperate.”

And with that last statement, he turns and walks away. Adrien can only feign passiveness as he listens to the measured even steps as his father retreats.

He sits there for several more minutes before he stands and leaves as well. He shakes the entire way back to his room where Plagg jumps directly into his collar upon his arrival.

Neither of them say anything. Adrien’s too exhausted to explain the conversation he had and is far too emotionally drained to even think about it. Thankfully, Plagg is not one to pry and chooses to stay close, purring loudly. The sound immediately comforts him, but also forces Adrien to crack.

He flops onto his bed face first and cries until sleep overcomes him.

* * *

 

It’s eight o’clock in the morning when the victim of the next akuma makes itself known.

Marinette is on her way to school—she can see the building in the near distance—when the sound of screeching tires causes her to whip her head around to see what’s going on. With dozens of cars being pushed aside, and windows and metal crunching as a result, she watches in shock as a giant spider-like being makes it way down the center of the main road.

She’s only slightly paying attention to what the akumatized woman is screaming—something about “do you find me _less_ or _more_ frightening now?”—as she runs into an alleyway and seconds later emerges as Ladybug.

Her heartbeat is in her throat as she takes a moment to observe the spider-woman and the way her eight pointed legs take out everything in sight as she moves. It’s not the victim that scares her, but the fact that this is the first akuma she’s faced since last Thursday’s incident.

Even with days of research (and far too many tears for her own liking) Marinette and Alya made very little progress. It was only hours into the beginning of their search for Chat Noir’s identity when she realized that Alya’s main obsession really was _strictly_ Ladybug. Of course Alya had her speculations and suspicions about her partner, but he’d never been her main focus.

It was called the Ladyblog for a reason, Marinette mused bitterly.

She’d spent two days and nights with Alya before finally returning home. It seemed that Alya’s parents had grown concerned over the fact that the two teenagers had locked themselves away (and she was sure that she wasn’t as quiet as she should’ve been when she would periodically break down and cry) so they’d called Marinette’s parents and informed them of the ‘situation’.

It was a bit embarrassing to listen to her parents assure her that ‘boys aren’t the wisest at this age’ and that ‘there are much better things to put your tears and effort into’, but it was better that they think she was heartbroken over a boy then learn the true meaning of her stress.

(But, she supposed her heart _was_ breaking, in a way, over this boy who she trusted and cared for so immensely.)

So after that, the two girls instead spent the remainder of their weekend in Marinette’s room, still burning through as many leads as they could get their hands on. By the time Sunday night had rolled around, Marinette was twice as desperate and three times more stressed about the situation than she’d started off as.

Watching as the victim smashes cars and rips tires off, only to chuck them into windows and across busy streets, Marinette swallows a lump in her throat and grips her yo-yo tightly.

She wonders whether Hawkmoth had seized Chat’s miraculous. If so, does this mean the akuma attacks will be more dangerous? Will this particular victim be stronger than the ones she’s already faced? She’d asked Tikki once and her kwami had all-but-confirmed that if he were to obtain another miraculous, things would indeed get worse for her.

So as she jumps out into the street, racing straight toward the spider-woman, she struggles to push her anxieties away.

It doesn’t work.

She’s far too stressed and her mind isn’t focused enough. After an hour passes her hopes that maybe Chat hadn’t fallen victim to Hawkmoth simply go away. She’s on her own from here on out, and that is a terrible, awful thing.

She’s tied up and completely immobile thanks to a few layers of silky spider web too fast for her to dodge and too tough for her to break out of when the spider-woman—Arachnid, she calls herself—approaches her, reaching for her earrings with excited, shaking fingers. There’s a scream on the tip of her tongue and tears threatening to flow— _I failed. Chat’s gone and I failed and Paris is going to fall_ —when out of nowhere, Arachnid is sent flying…

… by a silver staff to the head.

“Yikes,” a familiar voice chimes in, and Marinette can hear the smile in his voice, “that one’s gonna hurt.”

“Chat?” She’s unsure and a bit frightened by his appearance. Is it really him? Is he really okay? Or is this some sort of trick that Hawkmoth is playing on her?

He turns to her and she immediately meets his eyes. Green and bright as ever, but there is something different about him; about the way he _looks_ at her.

Right away she knows something is off.

“One second, my Lady,” he purrs, voice even as he steps behind her and uses his razor sharp claws to break her free from the web, “there we go. Hope you didn’t miss me too much--”

The second her feet touch the ground she spins and ducks low, jutting a leg out and catching Chat off guard so effectively that when she swipes his feet out from beneath him all he can do is let out a shocked squawking sound and catch himself on the concrete with his palms.

“Ladybug, what—“

But she doesn’t give him time to say anything else before she’s on his back, jerking both arms behind him and _twisting_. When he lets out a pained yelp she winces; it’s a painful hold, but as long as he doesn’t struggle there won’t be any real damage.

Hoisting him up along with her, she has to struggle to ignore his shouting at her and instead uses her yo-yo to pull them up onto the nearest roof. The second they land she releases him and takes an offensive position behind him.

“What the _hell,_ Ladybug?!” He screeches at her as he rubs his shoulders and faces her, backing up and staring at her with a betrayed look. It breaks her heart but in that moment his eyes look like his own, and she’s so _relieved_. “What has gotten into—“

“We have about thirty seconds before she recovers and comes looking for us,“ she snaps, cutting him off quickly. They have no time to dance around the topic. “Now tell me, Chat Noir, where the hell did you go Thursday? What the hell happened to you? What—I mean, is--“ she stomps her foot, overwhelmed with frustration, “I mean, are you _okay_?!”

Her concern forces him to freeze and Marinette watches as he opens his mouth once, and then twice, and no words spill forth. No jokes. No puns. Nothing to deflect the subject. Simply stunned silence.

“Who is Hawkmoth?” she demands next, after he is silent for too long. “How do you know him?”

Chat’s eyes dim at that question and when he speaks he looks so incredibly sad that her heart aches. “My Lady,” he grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Fists clenching with frustration and anger, she wants to continue interrogating him but the reappearance of an almost-forgotten spider averts their attention back toward the task at hand.

With Chat’s help, they take care of the akuma in ten minutes; Chat destroys a cocoon that was shielding the woman and it shocks her enough that she doesn’t see it coming when Ladybug grabs the key wrapped around her wrist and snaps it in half. In seconds the akuma is cleansed, all the damage has been undone, and things are back to normal.

Yet as she turns and sees Chat Noir already running away, departing without a single word, she snaps.

“Chat!” She screams, running after him. There’s adrenaline pulsing through her veins now at the idea of him successfully evading her and she forces herself to move quicker. “Chat, stop!”

It takes her only a minute to catch up with him, but by that time her earrings have already beeped once. She has four minutes left before her transformation lets up, and she has to put this time to good use.

She cuts him off on an unfamiliar rooftop and lifts her arms ahead of her, yo-yo spinning threateningly. “Chat,” she warns, angry at his refusal to speak with her, “we have to talk.”

He doesn’t even bother grinning at her. Instead he feigns confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He’s a horrible actor.

“Clearly you do, or you wouldn’t be running away.”

“Our transformations are going to wear off,” he points out, lifting his ring toward her as his beeps, showing that he only has three minutes left. “I have to go.”

“You know who he is, don’t you?” She jumps right in. They don’t have time. She has to find out Chat's identity,  _Hawkmoth’s_ identity. “That’s why you ran.”

“Ladybug, I don’t—“

“Don’t _lie_ to me, Chat!” She cries, stomping her foot as she lets her yo-yo cease movement, clicking it to her hip. “I spoke with my kwami about it. You touched the akuma. Hawkmoth knows your identity now. You know, our enemy? The man who keeps harming Paris?” She approaches him, slowly but with even steps. “Who is he?”

“I don’t know—“

“You’re _lying_ to me! Please, Chat! I thought we were a team! What did he do to you? Did he threaten you? I mean,” she eyes his ring, “clearly you still have your miraculous. Just—I want to help Chat, please.”

“My Lady,” and as his voice cracks and feigned indifference fades, she wants to scream, “I can’t—I need to do this, okay?” and his smile is so sad that she thinks that she really might actually shout out. “I can handle this. Don’t worry.”

“No,” she says sternly, “you’re going to get yourself hurt or killed or—“ she inhales deeply, trying hard to control her emotions, “I know I always say that we need to keep our identities a secret but—“ as if on cue, her ring beeps again. And when she makes no move to escape, he realizes what she’s proposing.

“No, Ladybug, _no_. It’s too dangerous right now. I’m serious, I can’t know your identity. He might figure it out and you’ll be in even more danger and—“

“Let me _help_ you Chat!”

“I’m not going to put you in danger!” He yells so loudly that she stumbles backward. She’s never heard him raise his voice like that and she doesn’t even bother hiding the fact that he’s frightened her. “Just—“ he panics slightly, the fear in her eyes unravelling him, “just stay away from me, my Lady, please. I can’t—you can’t get hurt. I can’t let him get you. Let me protect you, please… please…”

There’s another beep, and whether it’s from herself or from him, Marinette isn’t sure. But Chat backs away, turns, and runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how many of you have watched the first part of the origin episode, but for those of you who have, let me know what you thought about it.
> 
> Next chapter will be posted Friday night (EST).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien snaps, Marinette cracks, and Alya does some digging.

Marinette eventually arrives to school, late of course, as she mumbles a subdued excuse upon entrance, before silently scooting in beside Alya, who squeezes her shoulder comfortingly, shooting her a wordlessly curious glance.

She simply forces a weak smile on her face and nods slightly. _I’m okay_ , she hopes her expression is communicating to her best friend, _it’s alright_. But Alya looks as pale as ever, worry swimming through her eyes as she drops her hand to squeeze Marinette’s hand. She glances down at Alya’s notepad and sees it’s filled with nothing but more Chat Noir theories (she doesn’t let herself stare too much at the way the paper is completely frayed; she knows Alya’s propensity to fidget and pull at things when nervous).

This is the first time she’s fought an akuma with Alya knowing her true identity and it’s clear just how stressed she’s been over it. The only thing Marinette can do is squeeze her friends hand back and hope that she can find it in herself to reign in the fear she knows is only natural.

Madame Bustier suddenly calls on Alya and their moment is over.

The rest of the school day is a complete blur to Marinette. She tries to focus on the subjects at hand, she truly does, but her thoughts always spin right back toward her partner. Her dear friend who was clearly in trouble yet refused to let her get close enough to help him with.

During lunch, she falls asleep in the locker room and would’ve slept straight through it if it weren’t for Alya hunting her down.

“You’re okay, right?” Alya asks in a low, quiet voice as they walk back to class. The bell has already rung and they’re already a couple of minutes late, but it’s the first real privacy they’ve gotten since the akuma attack.

Marinette nods, “I am, really. Chat showed up.”

Alya sighs, nodding, “Yeah I heard; someone posted some comments and pictures in one of my blog’s forums. Is _he_ okay?”

She bites her lip. “Physically, yeah. But there’s… something going on. Something he won’t tell me. I think he’s in some real trouble, Alya. He wouldn’t stay and talk to me. He wouldn’t tell me anything. The only thing he let slip was that he’s trying to protect me. He—he doesn’t want me to get hurt.”

The sound of footsteps approaching causes the girls to freeze, but when they see it’s only Adrien, following a ways behind them and also late to class, they relax slightly.

“Hey, Adrien,” Alya calls lightly, smiling toward him and stopping to let him catch up.

Marinette can’t even bring herself to be nervous at his approach. She has far too many things on her mind and worrying about his presence is low on her priorities, so she simply ignores him. It isn’t until there is more silence when she looks up.

He hasn’t spoken a word and almost runs directly into the two girls before jumping slightly, eyes seemingly gaining a focus they hadn’t held before. “Oh,” he breathes, meeting both of their eyes before he averts his gaze, “sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“Or hear us, apparently,” Alya jokes, “you okay?”

Again, he doesn’t reply, only stands there, hands in his pockets. Marinette can’t help but notice how his eyes seem very far away; sad even.

“Adrien?” Alya asks.

“Hm?” He looks up again, as if startled back out of his thoughts. He then chuckles nervously, rubbing his neck. “Sorry. I’m just really tired.”

Alya cracks a smile at that, “Same here. And I’m sure Madame’s lectures aren’t going to help.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, forcing a smile on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes. Marinette’s studying him closely and watches as he swallows thickly. “Shall we?” he holds an arm forward, toward their classroom, and gives them another polite smile.

As they enter the room, each of them receiving a small reprimand from Madame Bustier for their tardiness, they flee to their seats and Marinette only prays that the afternoon will pass quicker than the morning did.

She lets her eyes wander to Adrien’s form a couple of times and a slight twinge of guilt pricks at her mind. He’s clearly upset about something and the thought depresses her. If she were dealing with any other circumstance, she’d mention it to Alya and they’d mention it to Nino and she’s sure they’d all pull their efforts in order to cheer him up.

But he isn’t the one in danger from a supervillain, so she pushes her concern for Adrien Agreste aside, disregarding her niggling guilt. Chat Noir is the blonde friend who needs her right now, and she refuses to let him down.

* * *

 

The next day isn’t much different than the previous. Although there are no akuma attacks—to Marinette’s unending relief—she and Alya are almost at their wits end. The amount of time and effort they’ve been collectively putting forth in order to somehow dig up Chat’s _very_ well-protected identity is finally taking a toll on the teenagers.

They could _say_ they’ve narrowed it down, which wouldn’t be a lie in any way, but it also wouldn’t be a statement that would prove any sort of progress.

When you lived in a city as densely populated as Paris—millions of people within 100 square kilometers—it was nearly impossible to claim advancement when you still had potentially tens of thousands of suspects out there. And that was only counting the young men that could be in their adolescence or early adulthood.

(It was hard not to be completely hopeless.)

For a good three hours they contemplated whether or not Chat Noir’s magic was able to change appearance, tone of voice, and apparent gender. This, all being part of the “there is no way Rose is our most likely candidate” debacle that took up a majority of their Monday night.

Out of the candidates that they all knew personally—classmates, friends, and family that had yet to be akumatized—Ivan and Adrien were ruled out first. Ivan was too… big, and Adrien was just too… polite. Alya put up a good argument that he was physically the most similar to Chat but Marinette was quick to dismiss the suspicion.

They’d argued about Rose for a bit before realizing it was just as unlikely as their other suspected classmates.

Alya had a good enough lead on Sunday morning. There was a boy that took the same bus route she did every day in the morning, and she insisted he was the right height, build, and that it was worth investigating. But while on the way to school on Monday, he’d been sitting right beside her when their bus was almost knocked over by Arachnid. He then subsequently hid with the entire bus population until Ladybug’s magic kicked in and fixed everything.

After they evacuated the bus and she walked the rest of the way to school, she’d pulled her notepad out and crudely crossed out _bus boy_ on her ‘Valid Suspects’ list, effectively leaving them with _none_.

They were at their wits end.

Alya had begun posting more about Chat on the Ladyblog. Not enough to take away from her typical slew of Ladybug content, but enough that it encouraged more people to share their own theories, stories, and ‘Chat sightings’ in comments and message boards.

They didn’t garner as many theories as they hoped they would, but they did get a report of a sighting of him heading East after he’d shaken Marinette away from him on Monday morning. It didn’t mean much to them yet, but they were sure that if over the forthcoming weeks they could get more sightings they would be able to narrow down where whoever Chat was lived, or at least spent time around as a civilian.

The idea of spending weeks waiting for leads that may end in dead ends only added to their stress.

Yet Marinette had to hand it to Alya. Her friend was really taking this entire situation much better than expected. Even better than she was, if she had to admit it. She supposed it helped that Alya was a little less emotionally attached to Chat that she was.

“We can always trap him,” Alya offers during lunch on Tuesday. They’re in the courtyard, sitting huddled together in a corner as they speak in hushed tones. They were running out of options and sanity, it seemed. “Try and corner him after a fight with an akuma.”

“Maybe,” Marinette shifts uncomfortably, playing with the sleeve of her jacket, “but it might be dangerous. I don’t know, Tikki,” she unclasps her bag and speaks to her resting kwami, “is it possible that Chat’s link with Hawkmoth is still active?”

Tikki shakes her tiny head. “It’s unlikely that he has the same link as he did last week. If he _did_ have one, it wouldn’t be hard to detect. He’d have to either have an akuma in his possession, or he’d have to be _possessed_ to maintain constant contact with Hawkmoth.” The tiny god goes silent for a second. “Do you suspect your Chat is spying on you, Marinette?”

She lets out a breath of air. “I trust him not to but… I just don’t know. He made it sound like being around me or even _knowing_ my identity would put me in trouble. It’s hard not to think of the possibility.”

“Again, we can trap him. Wait for his transformation to give out. Then we have his identity and he’s without powers for… as long as his kwami’s tired, right?”

“Right,” Tikki chirps from her spot, still hiding in Marinette’s purse.

“And that’s when we’d interrogate him. Find out who he is exactly. What Hawkmoth wants and who _he_ is.”

“I don’t know,” Marinette mumbles uneasily, “I don’t feel comfortable betraying his trust like that.”

“Girl,” Alya sits up straighter and fixes her with a stern look, “he’s lying and keeping things from you. _Hawkmoth things_. If anyone breached the whole ‘trust’ issue here, it’s him. You’re trying to help him.”

“She’s right, Marinette,” Tikki chimes in once more before Marinette frowns and recloses the clasp on her purse, ignoring her kwami’s near-silent protest.

“It’s dangerous for you though, Alya,” she says, and she has a point. “If you’re trying to be there to help me trap him, or whatever, it’s going to be hard to keep him in one spot when he can jump clear over our heads without even thinking about it.”

“Alright, then you can trap him. Use your yo-yo. Use your super-strength. Honestly girl, you’re the one with the superpowers, so use them. I’ll just stay nearby and catch up once you got him. I can fake some blackmail to get him to stay and talk,” she grins, “I’m good at that.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Marinette grumbles.

“Who’s getting blackmailed?”

The pair almost jump out of their skin when suddenly Nino is standing before them.

“Jeez, Nino!” Alya snaps, “didn’t anyone ever tell you never to sneak up on unsuspecting girls!” As Alya glares at the boy, Marinette slyly tucks her purse behind her so that its out of sight for the most part.

He scoffs, “Please. You two are hardly innocent bystanders. Now which poor soul are you planning on blackmailing? Do I need to send out a general warning to the male populous around here?” He joked, sitting down across from them.

“Do that and face my wrath,” Alya threatens with a narrowed glance.

“Y’know that threat would be scarier if your shirt wasn’t inside out.”

Both girls look down at Alya’s shirt, only to see that it is indeed inside-out.

Huh. Earlier, Marinette was wondering why her collar had looked so strange today.

Grumbling under her breath—probably holding back a string of profanity—Alya shoots Nino a deadly glare as she begins to unbutton her flannel. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she spits, “I have an undershirt on.”

He laughs a bit nervously, pink tinging his cheeks, “I assume so.” He is silent for a long moment. “I was hoping to talk to you two, but you guys seem a bit… distracted.”

Marinette sighs, not even having the energy to pull a smile onto her face. “It’s been a long week, Nino. Sorry. We just haven’t been feeling too well.”  He nods and smiles sympathetically, and Marinette immediately feels a bit sorry. “Where’s Adrien?”

“Well, that’s sort of… what I wanted to talk to you guys about…”

The teen girls share a quick, confused look. “Why? What’s going on?”

“It’s just,” Nino looks over his shoulder before turning back and lowering his voice, leaning toward them as he speaks, “I think something’s wrong.”

Alya blinks and then narrows her eyes, “Wrong, _how_?”

Nino cracks his neck before shrugging over-exaggeratedly. “I don’t know, man! Just… he’s not acting like himself. He’s hardly paying attention to anything. This morning he didn’t write a single thing down, not even the date. He just stared at the paper for almost three hours. I can’t get him to talk to me. I don’t know what’s going on!”

Taking off his hat he runs his hand through his hair before dragging it down his face. “I’m trying, really, to lend an ear or a shoulder or whatever it is he needs. Because his dad,” he hesitates, before relaying the information anyways, “well, he’s always had issues with his dad. I think that might have something to do with it. But he won’t let me in; hell, he won’t even _look_ at me. That’s why I was hoping to talk to you guys. I wanted to see if you had any ideas.”

Alya is quiet for a moment, and Marinette genuinely wonders what she’s going to say. Is she going to give Nino a quick idea for a hopeful fix of the situation and send him on his way? It would be wisest for them, that way they could continue on their search for Chat Noir. But when she eventually speaks, Marinette is confused and mildly upset.

“Yeah, we can help,” she offers, leaning forward and placing a sympathetic hand on Nino’s bent knee. “I think we should just try talking to him first though. Normal conversation, I mean. Nothing heavy. We don’t need to force him to spill the beans quite yet, right?”

Nino grins a bright smile that almost makes Marinette forgive Alya’s decision to abandon their Chat search for the afternoon.

 _Almost_.

Lunch ends too soon and suddenly students are ushering back into the building and heading back toward class. When Alya rises to follow Nino, Marinette grabs her hand, stopping her in place. The girls exchange a quick look before Alya grins up at Nino.

“Go on ahead, we’ll see you in a minute.” Then, as an afterthought, she adds, “try and butter Adrien up a bit before we get there. See if you can get him to crack a smile. We can ambush him after class and drag him out to eat or something.”

Nino shoots her a thousand-watt smile and a thumbs up before readjusting his bag and walking away.

“What?” Alya asks, voice low. But she seems to know what Marinette’s unspoken question is because immediately she has a hand raised and she’s shaking her head. “Don’t worry. This is good for us. We need to take a break from all this madness before we drive ourselves crazy. Let’s see if we can cheer up, Adrien. Take our minds off Chat for a bit. That way, when we go back to our investigation we’ll have fresh minds. Sort of.”

“I don’t know,” Marinette is so anxious by the thought of putting her effort and energy in anything that _isn’t_ Chat-related that the thought actually scares her. She doesn’t realize she’s begun to shake until Alya’s hands are firmly on her shoulders.

“Mari,” she says firmly, “look at me.” And she forces herself to comply, despite the tears stinging her eyes. “It’s going to be okay. Get out of your head for a bit, yeah? Let’s go help Adrien out. Have some laughs, get a late lunch somewhere, then we’re back at it with fresh heads.”

Marinette forces herself to nod and swallows thickly. Alya’s right, of course. The two were running themselves ragged. An afternoon with friends will do them good. And perhaps helping Adrien out will serve to put her in a better mood.

It’s when the girls walk through the doorway of their classroom when any hopes of having a peaceful afternoon fly right out the window.

“I’m just trying to _help you_ , dude!” Nino is shouting, hands on his head as he steps around his fallen chair. In front of him is Adrien, and the sight of the typically composed, quiet blonde standing with fists clenched and _anger_ dripping off every ounce of his body language makes Marinette freeze.

“Just _drop_ it, okay!” Adrien shouts back, and it’s a noise Marinette never thought she’d hear. “Leave it alone!”

“I’m your _friend_ , Adrien! You’re acting crazy!” Nino laughs and the sound is cold, void of any humor.

This is _not_ the way things were supposed to go.

“Nino,” Adrien snaps again, taking one step backward, “ _back off_.”

Marinette can hardly hear the sound of Madame Bustier attempt to regain control of the classroom, but it’s a fruitless effort. Half of the class is out of their seats and everyone is on edge. Adrien Agreste doesn’t snap at people. Adrien Agreste doesn’t have _anger-driven outbursts_.

“You heard him,” she hears Chloe scoff, chiming in from her seat, clearly entertained by the situation, “back off, Nino.” Sabrina giggles behind her, but the sound seems forced.

“Woah dudes! Are you guys about to start fighting?” Alix squeaks, scurrying out of her seat to get a closer look.

“Adrien, what are you doing?” Rose squeaks anxiously.

“Damn,” Kim laughs, then turns to someone else; Max, maybe, “who knew he had it in him?”

“Please don’t fight,” Mylène pleads, her voice hardly carrying over the commotion.

“I’m your _friend_ , dude,” Nino’s voice is getting more desperate, and Marinette can see how upset this entire debacle is making him. “I’m trying to help. But if you don’t let me then—“

“I don’t need anyone’s _help_!”

And for a split-second it looks as if Adrien’s going to actually hit Nino. Fear flashes through his bespectacled friend the moment he steps up to him, and the sight of it seems to pull Adrien back to Earth. He backs up a few steps and almost stumbles over his own over-turned chair as he reaches blindly for his bag.

Marinette watches from the doorway as he looks around the room and his panic rises at the sight of everyone’s apprehensiveness. Adrien looks like a trapped animal in that moment, caged and unsafe and just about ready to chew his own leg off to be free.

So when he turns and runs, Marinette isn’t surprised.

She’s still standing in the doorway, only a couple of paces behind where Alya is also standing, also frozen in place, when Adrien bumps into her, nearly knocking her off her feet as he bolts from the room. She’s left dazed as it happens and can only faintly hear the sound of Nino yelling after him and Alya angrily threatening to take chase—“he almost pushed her to the ground!”—as she leans against the doorway.

There’s a small voice in her head—a voice that sounds frighteningly like her own—that taunts her as the sound of Adrien’s footsteps disappears in the halls behind her. It tells her that she neglected to notice her friend cracking under some unseen pressure. It whispers that she can’t do it; that she can’t protect everyone. That Chat is still in danger, that something is terribly wrong with Adrien, that there’s nothing she can do to keep the people she cares about safe.

And when she starts crying, she simply lets the tears fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter was a bit delayed due to a stomach flu I was fighting last week. Also, this was written prior to either origin episode, so disregard the bit about Ivan not being akumatized yet.  
> Next chapter is already written, look for it sometime Wednesday night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alya tells a secret, and Chat reveals one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this isn't Wednesday night but here you go anyways.

Throwing her bag on her desk she doesn’t bother looking at her homework or even giving school a second thought. Instead, she kicks her shoes off, throws her jacket on her chair, and climbs her ladder into bed.

The moment school had let out, Alya had told Marinette to go on home. She explained that she was going to keep an eye on Nino for an hour or two; keep him company and maybe even try and get to the bottom of what had happened after lunchtime (or at least what had _started_ it), and she’d meet up with her after. Marinette had simply nodded in reply; she was far too exhausted to put up a fight and a nap would do her good. A headache had been pounding away at her skull for the better part of the afternoon since she’d stopped crying earlier, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to function enough to cook up any ‘Chat Theories’ in that state.

With one final glance at her phone—she still has a little under two hours before Alya will be there—she closes her eyes and within minutes, unconsciousness claims her.

* * *

“Marinette.”

There was no way that it had only been two hours, is the first thought she has as she sinks back into the waking world.

“Marinette, wake up.”

Alya must be standing on the ladder and pulling at her blanket, because before Marinette knows it, she’s entirely uncovered and awake enough to see through her windows.

And it is dark out.

 _Oh_.

Rubbing an eye, Marinette scoots herself across her bed before flinging her legs onto her ladder. “What time is it?” She asks, yawning. She has to admit, she does feel better.

That is, until she realizes what’s going on.

“That’s not important,” and suddenly Tikki is in front of her face. “You need to transform, _now_.”

“What—“

And then, right beside Tikki, Alya pushes her phone into her face as well, showing her a live news feed of what’s going on just across town.

_An akuma attack._

An expletive flies from her mouth as Marinette sleepily, yet successfully, jumps the rest of the way down the ladder, landing noisily. Wincing at the loudness of it all, she hopes her mother doesn’t come up looking to see if anything’s wrong.

“Wait, let me see that again,” pulling the phone from Alya’s hand she stares at the feed again. It’s raining but she can very clearly see Chat as he flutters around the akumatized villain. _That_ ’s who she can’t see very clearly. “What are they?”

“I’m… not sure,” Alya admits, a bit embarrassed. “Their power might be water related, but I can’t quite see because of the rain. And no, it was raining before he appeared, so he didn’t cause it, I don’t think.”

“Okay,” she nods, fully awake now that she knows there’s an emergency to take care of, “Tikki—“

And as she turns to address her kwami, she notices him.

Nino. Sitting backwards in her desk chair. Arms folded over the back and watching the girls with wide eyes. “Uh,” he speaks awkwardly, “hey.”

Marinette looks from Tikki, to Nino, back to Tikki, and then to Alya. “ _What is he doing here_?!” She demands, her voice only slightly softer than a complete shout.

Oh, her mother is _definitely_ going to come looking for her now.

“Mari, honey,” Alya puts her hands on her shoulders and levels their eye contact. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course, but does Nino—“

“He knows a little, but that doesn’t matter right now.” Marinette opens her mouth to retort but Alya swiftly covers it with her hand. “You trust me, right?” Marinette swallows what she wants to say and is silent for a long moment before nodding. “Good. I promise I’ll explain everything later. But you have to go help Chat.”

The urge to slap Alya’s hand away and demand to know, right that instant, what Nino is doing in her room and demand _just how much he knows_ , is almost overpowering. But the sound of the newsfeed still playing from Alya’s phone, and a sudden series of sharp, panicked screams that erupt from the recording, forces her frustration away.

She transforms without another word, too nervous to look in Nino’s direction or even to meet Alya’s eyes any further, before she jumps up through her trapdoor and into the stormy night.

It only takes her about two minutes to arrive, and she does just in time to catch Chat as he is flung at her, and _hard_.

The force of his body hitting her so unexpectedly causes her to immediately lose the breath she holds in her lungs. It’s horrendously disorienting. Even as they skid across the ground—before eventually they slam into a building across the street, her body absorbing the blow—Marinette can only focus on the fact that she can’t _breathe_.

“My Lady,” Chat immediately turns to her as they stop, grabbing her by her upper arms and pulling her to her feet, “are you alright?”

In reply all she can do is attempt to gasp for air. When seconds pass and her lungs are still struggling to expand fully she simply shakes her head. When she looks him in the eye she almost immediately regrets the small bit of honestly. He looks terrible. As if he’d been hosed off a little too harshly and then perhaps dragged down a few dozen flights of stairs. Chat looked _horrible_.

“Here,” he gathers her into his arms quickly before jumping up onto the building they’d crashed into, “the farther we are from him, the worse his aim is.” She can’t quite see—it’s begun to rain harder—but she can feel as they jump from rooftop to rooftop, getting farther and farther from their current villain as they travel. “There.” When she’s placed back on the ground, she falls to her knees, weakly lifting her arms over her head. “How do you feel?”

“You,” she gasps as she places most of her focus on filling her lungs, “hit me,” another gasp, “pretty hard.” She tries to smile weakly, but she’s sure it looks a bit pitiful.

Chat frowns, tightening his hold on her. And if Marinette could she wishes she could pause this moment, even if only for a few minutes. She’s so tired; mentally, emotionally, even physically. She wishes Chat would be honest with her and she wishes that he’d never touched the akuma and she wishes that whatever pain he was experiencing he’d at the very least _share_ with her so he wouldn’t have to endure it alone.

But her daydreams end quickly.

“He’s a firefighter. In real life, I mean,” Chat starts speaking, his voice carrying easily above the rain, when she’s still silent for a few more seconds. “I don’t know why he was possessed, but I’m pretty sure the akuma is in his hose.”

Ladybug raises an eyebrow. “Hose?” She’s finally beginning to breathe a bit steadier. She forces another breathy laugh out as she pulls herself back onto her feet, “No wonder you look like a drowned cat. I thought that was just the rain.”

He gives her a little smirk. “Very funny.” And even that tiny taste of his old sense of humor brings warmth to the pit in her chest. Their banter is something comforting and familiar and for a moment, Marinette lets it wash over her. “Now, let’s go help Paris, shall we?” Chat straightens up and holds a hand out for her.

She’s hesitant, looking from his hand to his face. He hides how tired he is very well behind the mask, but Chat’s always been an open book, and there’s still a pain swimming in his eyes that she can so clearly see.

“Chat,” she starts, her voice falling as emotion swallows her, “who’s going to help _you_?”

There’s a flicker of pain in his eyes, but his smile does not falter. It’s picture perfect, in fact.

“My Lady,” his voice is just barely above a whisper, “I can take care of myself just fine.”

She doesn’t take his hand and instead frowns, “Liar,” she accuses.

As they fly from the rooftops, side by side and strangely silent, she can’t help but notice that he doesn’t tell her she’s wrong.

It takes them almost an hour to defeat this particular akumatized victim. With the combination of the rain and his firehose, everything is slippery and it’s nearly impossible to get a grip on anything. By the time Chat can cataclysm the fire hydrant that the victim is using, Ladybug only has a little over a minute left until her transformation gives out.

A fact that she keeps entirely to herself.

She’s praying that he’s been too distracted to notice and once she cleanses the butterfly and sets everything back in place with her powers, she turns to him, breathless, and smiles. It’s a tired smile, but it’s genuine enough and he returns it.

Lifting his fist, he holds it out to her for a fist-bump, and that’s when she makes her move.

He doesn’t try to jump away or dodge her as she slides her arms around his torso, embracing him tightly. His posture does not stiffen, nor does he seize with panic when she hugs him. Instead, he waits a second before returning it, and when she feels his arms wrap around her shoulders she can’t help but melt into his embrace.

She’s holding onto him so tightly and the rain is simply so _loud_ , that when her earrings give one final warning beep, he only has time to gasp before they’re both enveloped in a bright glow for a split-second.

And suddenly she’s no longer Ladybug.

She’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Standing in the middle of a rainstorm, late at night, embracing Chat Noir in the street.

Next, she’s the one to gasp as suddenly they’re _hurtling_ through the air, away from the scene where cops and emergency officials are swarming and the latest victim is struggling to regain their bearings and understand why on Earth they’re in the middle of the road in the pouring rain.

He’s still embracing her when they land, and then he’s _shouting_.

“What are you _doing!?_ ” He demands to know as his hold on her tightens. He’s both looking and yelling over her shoulder and when he doesn’t release her she realizes he’s still trying to keep her identity a secret from himself. “They could’ve seen you! Your identity! They would all know! Do you have any idea how _dangerous_ that is? Or how dangerous it could be if _I_ know?”

“No,” she snaps back, “I don’t know, because you won’t _tell_ me why you can’t know! You won’t let me help you!” Marinette pushes against the embrace for a few seconds, until she realizes that the effort is futile. Without Ladybug’s strength, there’s no way she’ll see Chat Noir’s face unless he wants her to.

Cursing her small lack of foresight she simply rests her head against his chest and sighs, lacing her fingers around his back. She’s so tired; this will do. At least she has him talking.

“Stop that,” he barks at her, “I can’t know. It’s dangerous. If my father were to find out—“

“Your _father_?” Her eyes widen. Without intending to, her grip on him tightens. He hadn’t meant to say that; she’s certain. “Chat? Is… your father… Hawkmoth?”

“Fuck,” he snaps after being silent for a moment; he holds her tighter to him, “ _fuck_!”

“He is,” Marinette gasps, “oh, my God. Chat—“

“Stop it,” he pleads heavily. “Ladybug, just—don’t say anything. I know, okay? I know.”

“I—I’m sorry,” her voice cracks, but she can’t help it. Her emotions are nothing but traitors at this point, so when she begins to cry, she can’t keep the sound at bay. “Chat, I’m so sorry.”

“Do you understand now?” He asks desperately, the words carrying over her shoulder and into the rain around them. “Why I can’t know? Why it’s dangerous for you? He’s watching my every move. That’s why what you’re doing right now is so fucking stupid. He could be watching me now. He could’ve seen you.”

“It’s dark,” Marinette explains, her voice shaky, “I did it because I knew only you can see me.”

“No,” he shakes his head, and the feeling of his wet, shaggy hair brushing against the top of her head almost tickles, “no. I’m not going to find out your identity this way. Especially when it’s still not safe. I can’t know, Ladybug. I _can’t_.”

“Yes, you can,” she insists. She bites her tongue, hesitates, and speaks again, “if you won’t look at me then I’ll just tell you who I am.” She threatens coolly, as if she isn’t shaking at her own words. “My name is M—“

“ _No!_ ” He shouts so loudly that the noise _forces_ her into silence. In the same instant he releases her, slapping his hands down over his ears and he stumbles away from her. “Ladybug, please. Please don’t. Please, I can’t know. I can’t, Ladybug I just fucking _can’t_.”

The guilt hits her like a slap to the face.

Chat Noir kneels before her, eyes clenched shut tightly, arms wrapped tightly over his head as he shakes with sobs, desperate to keep any sound from reaching him.

“Kitty,” she cries, falling to her knees before him, heart shattering at the sight of his breakdown. “I’m sorry.”

But he can’t hear her. He’s sobbing and muttering half-coherent apologies under his breath and his hands are pressed so tightly against his ears and as his ring beeps again—

_His ring._

Leaning forward to study it Marinette’s heart sinks as she notices he only has two minutes left until his transformation wears off.

There’s too much guilt suffocating her to even consider letting it run out without his knowledge.

“Chat,” she pulls on his arm lightly, trying hard to speak over his own incomprehensible murmurs. “Chat, your ring.” She tugs on his collar a bit harshly and when he snatches her hand away she jumps.

“Promise me,” he speaks loudly before she can even gather a breath, “promise me Ladybug, that you won’t tell me who you are. _Please_. I’ll—I’ll talk to you more next time, I swear. I just can’t tell you I—I have to keep you safe.”

“Chat, I—“

“ _Promise_ me!”

She swallows the sob that’s been building before nodding. It takes her a second to realize that he still isn’t looking at her—of _course_ he isn’t looking at her—when she vows, “I promise.”

So holding back every urge to break down, instead she moves forward again and wraps her arms back around him, clinging tightly to him as the rain increases around them in intensity. She just wants him to stop crying. She wants her guilt to leave her body. She wants things to not be so… so utterly awful.

Chat is silent for another minute as he stands and picks her up, tucking her head against him so that even as he jumps across a couple of rooftops and lands in an alley on the ground beneath them, he doesn’t risk seeing her face.

“Is this okay?” He mumbles quietly. “Can you walk from here?”

Marinette looks around, peeking over his shoulder, and see’s the school in the near distance. Her home isn’t too far.

“This is fine,” she promises the same time his ring beeps again; he has one minute left before his own transformation gives out. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

His departure isn’t immediate. He tightens his embrace on her for a few long seconds, pressing his face against the top of her wet head as he inhales deeply. Marinette’s head rises and falls slowly where her own cheek is pressed against the leather of his suit as she listens to his breathing finally calm. It’s another moment she wants to take a snapshot of so she can return to it whenever she wants.

Chat is her best friend. That’s never been a doubt in her mind. Sure, she has Alya, but there’s nothing quite like the bond you hold with someone after fighting over a hundred different super-powered civilians over the course of a couple of years. There are days where she think she might love him, and days where she wonders what would happen if her heart could move on from Adrien.

Chat is easy to love. It’s impossible not to at least care for him. But when her best friend is in this type of serious peril love is easy to brush aside. Maybe one day she’ll be able to let him into her heart, but that day is not due.

There’s a small pressure on the top of her head—a kiss, she’s almost certain—and then he’s gone, and she’s blinking up into the pouring rain at his fast retreating form. If he ever looks over his shoulder toward her, she would never know.

She finds herself both praying for and dreading their next encounter.

* * *

 

Transforming using an exhausted Tikki does nothing to relieve her searing guilt, but seconds later when she’s up on her balcony and the ten-second transformation gives out, she catches her kwami and holds her tightly to her chest.

She’s soaked to the bone and by the time she opens the trap door to her bedroom she almost doesn’t want to enter. Her only thought as she stares down into the hole is _‘I’m going to get my bed wet_ ’.

But Alya, bless her heart, seemed to have had some forethought and when Marinette realizes that there’s plastic draped over her bed—where the hell did she get that tarp?—she doesn’t hesitate as she hops down onto her bed.

And Alya is on her in an instant, leading her by the arm off her bed, down her ladder, and across the room where Marinette can see towels and clean, dry clothes already waiting for her.

“Do you want to shower?” Her friend asks in a soft voice as she begins stripping her of her drenched clothes. Marinette only shakes her head. If she showers she’s just going to sit down and cry, and if she’s going to do some crying she’d much rather do it in her own bed.

Her, thankfully, _dry_ bed.

God, she loved Alya.

Marinette moves robotically as she dries her body with the towels Alya hands her, sitting on her couch. She doesn’t quite realize how cold she is and how badly she’s shivering until she has a fresh set of pajamas on and her robe draped over her shoulders. Her fingers dig into the fabric as she pulls it around her and when she finally begins focusing on her surroundings she almost jumps when she realizes that Nino is still there.

A part of her wonders if he had enough sense to turn while she’d been changing, but she doesn’t care enough to think about if for more than a second.

“Hi,” she says dumbly, because what else is there to say when another one of your best friends just learned your biggest secret?

He’s staring at her strangely, as if he isn’t sure she’s real or as if she just revealed the secrets of the universe to him. As if he’s taking in the fact that she is in fact the superheroine that has been working to protect Paris for almost three years.

There’s some relief when he smiles at her and even more relief when he stays in his spot on her desk chair. Alya, on the other hand, who has seemingly forgotten any and all rules about personal space, is sitting directly beside her on the couch, warming both of Marinette’s icy hands within her own.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Marinette blinks up at her and thinks to herself for a moment. Oh yeah. The akuma attack. Chat’s accidental revelation. Her failed attempt at revealing her identity. The _guilt_.

“I don’t know,” she replies honestly, as all the emotions she’d put on hold when she got home suddenly begin to leak out, “I—I…” her eyes are filling with tears and her throat is beginning to swell with the heavy emotion she’s trying hard to control. “It’s his father. Hawkmoth is Chat Noir’s father.”

And she’s crying again, weakly sobbing as Alya wraps her arms around her, a cocoon of safety and warmth. Even though a part of her wants to be alone, to suffer this fact in silence—as a punishment for the horrible emotions she inflicted on Chat, possibly—she is glad that Alya’s there. She’s even thankful for Nino’s presence. Although silent, their company is enough support and as she cries, not once does she feel self-conscious. She simply lets herself cry, confident that when she’s done, they’ll be there to help her pick up the pieces.

She wonders and hopes that Chat has _someone_. That he has friends like this who are there for him when he cries. Perhaps someone to hold him the way Alya holds her.

There’s a sick feeling in her stomach that tells her he most likely doesn’t.

His tired, green eyes flicker through her mind, and Marinette cries harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit of info: I don't proof-read because I'm lazy. So if you see any simple spelling or grammatical errors, feel free to let me know so I can fix them. I know how much of an annoyance they can be and how they can mess with the flow of your reading.
> 
> Next update should be this weekend. Don't get too excited about the whole "two updates in two days" thing. I promise that won't be a regular occurrence.
> 
> Let me know what you think. You can find me and send me nonsense on tumblr at [flowerslut](http://flowerslut.tumblr.com/).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which guilt is always suffocating and impulse rules the day.

Despite the company, Marinette’s night is uneventful. She cries for a while, lets Alya comfort her, and Nino doesn’t say much while this happens, he only promises not to breathe a word to anyone. They aren’t able to talk about much even after she’s calmed down. Marinette’s parents know they’re there and as it gets later Sabine comes up and suggests that Alya and Nino either call their parents and let them know they’re staying or she can loan them some umbrellas if they decide to leave.

Nino leaves after that, explaining that his parents have actually been calling him all night, and he knows he’s going to get an earful if he doesn’t get home soon. He is reluctant to leave though, Marinette can tell, but when Alya promises to them that they’ll catch up—and that she’ll explain everything—tomorrow at lunch, it seems to ease his anxiety a bit.

Alya stays, and for that Marinette is unendingly grateful. After she cries all the tears her body will let her, she falls into a dreamless, heavy sleep. She wakes up to Alya snoring softly beside her as light begins to trickle in through the windows, and she’s choked up with how thankful she is for her friend’s presence and support.

She hates lying to her parents; she truly despises the feeling that envelopes her after she stretches the truth, even if it’s necessary. Perhaps if she were better at lying she wouldn’t feel so bad about doing it, but she’s a terrible liar. Stutters stumble from her lips and she hesitates too many times with each web she weaves. Sometimes it’s hard to keep track of what is real and what she’s told them, but thankfully she’s fully able to remember, even if it does cause a bit of a headache every now and again.

Her parents are growing more and more worried every day and when she comes downstairs to see her parents trying to get Alya to spill a little bit more detail, she tenses up.

“They’re just worried,” Alya says in lieu of an excuse as they walk to school. “They tried to get me to give them more information about the boy you’re ‘broken over’,” she explains, half of a wince on her face. Marinette bets it was an awkward conversation to have and wishes she hadn’t taken those extra ten minutes to get ready for school. “I told them that it’s a little more complicated than ‘boy troubles’. I told them that we’re mainly doing research when we’re cooped up in your room—which isn’t a lie in any way—but now that I think about it we really should catch up on our schoolwork.” Alya frowns. “If our grades begin to drop, we’re going to be fucked.”

Marinette manages a smirk. “You’ve sworn more in the past week than I’ve ever heard you in the years I’ve known you.”

“There is literally no other way to channel the emotions I’ve been feeling,” Alya defends swiftly. “There are no other words to use to accurately depict how I feel about my best friend being a superhero and simultaneously trying to discover her sidekick’s identity because magic stones are close to falling into evil hands.”

“Chat isn’t my sidekick. He’s my partner.”

“And his dad is Hawkmoth. And that is way _fucked_.”

Marinette adjusts her backpack over her shoulder. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“An accurate way. I just have to make sure the filter goes on in school and at home, and I’m good.” She grins deviously. “I feel bad for censoring you all these years. It feels pretty good to say things like ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’. I don’t know why I didn’t join you and your nasty potty mouth sooner.”

Laughter cuts her off and when the girls turn to see Nino approach they tense momentarily before relaxing as he falls in step beside them.

“Am I hearing things or did you just say fuck?”

Alya nods almost happily, “And shit.”

Nino blinks at her before glancing at Marinette. “Is she feeling okay?”

“Probably not,” Marinette deadpans, “it’s been a long week.”

Nino’s smile is immediately apologetic; yet her guilt at causing it is easy to ignore. “Sorry,” he rubs the back of his neck, “I don’t know much but I know things are…”

“Fucked,” Alya offers.

Nino lets out a dry laugh, “Yeah, that.”

“Lunchtime,” Alya points at him, “you’re getting the full summary and we’re telling this one,” she juts a thumb toward Marinette, “your theory.”

Marinette blinks, confused at her words. “A theory?”

But with impeccable timing as always, the sound of the first bell in the slight distance catches their attention, and with hurried steps they make their way down the street and up the stairs of the school.

“Yeah,” Alya explains as they approach their classroom, “no use getting into it now. We’ll tell you at lunch.”

When they enter the classroom, Adrien’s absence is glaringly noticeable. Everyone is giving Nino apprehensive glances and Marinette is sure she hears Chloe make some remark about Adrien not wanting to see their faces but she mainly just ignores her. It’s not worth the effort.

Other than that, the morning is utterly boring, uneventful, and has never passed slower.

She’s practically squirming in her seat by the time the bell rings, dismissing them for their lunch break, and when she stands she immediately grabs Alya’s hand, dragging her down a couple of stairs before also grabbing Nino and dragging him behind her as well.

She doesn’t stop moving or relinquish her hold on either of their arms until they are out of the school and several blocks away.

“Okay, Mari, chill out for a second.” Alya says as she finally gets her arm back. Rubbing the sore wrist she narrows her eyes at her friend for a second. “Where are we going?”

“The park.”

“Shouldn’t we go somewhere more private?” Nino asks uneasily. Marinette can see how nervous he is and can’t help but wonder what he knows or what he has to tell them.

“No, public is good. Hiding in plain sight. Don’t worry. Trust.”

“Were any of those even full sentences?” Alya asks Nino under her breath but Marinette ignores them and as the park comes into view she briskly walks up to the first bench she sees, sits, and waits.

Her friends sit on each side of her and that’s when she finally tenses up, her extra energy has nowhere to go so instead she taps her foot, unable to keep from fidgeting.

“You’re Ladybug,” Nino says, a bit dumbly, after a few silent seconds. “That’s…” he draws in a breath of air and shakes his head, “so crazy. Like--”

“Yeah, I know,” Marinette almost feels rude for cutting him off but she doesn’t have time for his shock, “you saw me transform last night. But why the hell do you know? Alya,” she gives her red-haired friend a look close to exasperation, “why does he know?”

Alya takes in a deep breath, cracks her neck. “God, how do I go about explaining this, uh… you see—“

“I think Adrien is Chat Noir.”

Marinette swears she almost breaks her neck turning to look at him. “ _What_?”

“Real subtle, Nino,” Alya growls through gritted teeth.

“I know it’s crazy but I really, _really_ think it could be him.” Nino looks so distressed at the thought and Marinette feels her stomach clench.

“You know how I hung out with Nino yesterday to get to the bottom of things?” Alya eventually speaks, picking her words carefully, her hand resting firmly on Marinette’s shoulder to keep her from chewing Nino’s head off for information. “Well, just think about it. It all matches up.”

“Adrien’s dad being literal human garbage,” Nino said, as if listing an example.

“Yeah, but,” Marinette is nearly sputtering, hardly able to contain her shock, “just because he and his father don’t get along doesn’t mean that he’s a _supervillain_.”

“I thought the same thing,” Alya explains, squeezing her shoulder to regain her full attention, “but when you came back, crying about Chat’s dad being Hawkmoth? I didn’t really take Nino’s accusation seriously until that point.”

“Yeah dude, even _I_ was hoping I was wrong. And then you—you came back and told us that and… it’s gotta be him you guys. This all started last Thursday, after that akuma attack. He never came back to school, he wasn’t there on Friday, he ignored all my texts and calls all weekend—hell, I even went to his house, _twice_ , to see what was going on and to return his bag. Nothing. I was surprised to see him in school at _all_ this week.”

“It can’t be a coincidence,” Alya agrees. “And even if it is, there’s no harm looking further into it. Adrien is suspect number one right now.” She leans down a bit, trying to catch Marinette’s gaze, but she isn’t paying attention. “Marinette? What do you think?” She feels Tikki stirring in her bag and lifts a hand to rest on it, keeping the clasp closed. She needs to think. She needs to _concentrate_.

But as she thinks of Chat Noir, of _Adrien_ , she tries and tries but the two refuse to merge as one in her mind. They’re so _different_. Adrien, the quiet, picture-perfect gentleman, and Chat, the boisterous, flirty goofball of a partner. The possibility of them being two sides of the same coin is overwhelming and almost unbelievable.

Or at least she wishes it were.

“There’s no way,” she whispers, tears springing to her eyes. “He can’t be.”

But it makes perfect sense, despite it hardly making any at all.

She’d laugh if it weren’t for the fact that she feels sick. Instead she settles for an odd middle ground and starts laughing hysterically. She wraps her arms around her middle, leans forward, and simply _laughs_.

She pays no mind as Alya and Nino exchang worried glances and remarks and simply lets the laughter render her utterly useless. Tears sting at her eyes and when she feels the bile rise in her throat she hardly has time to focus before she’s vomiting on the ground beneath her feet.

Nino swears, jerking his legs away and Alya springs into action, holding her hair back and helping her lean forward farther.

Marinette is sweating, has tears streaming down her face, and has the remnants of her stomach contents splattered against her shoes when she stands up and begins walking.

“Woah, okay hold on, where are you going?” Alya goes to stand in front of her, eyes wide with panic, as she places her hands on her shoulders. “You’re freaking me out a bit, girl.”

“Adrien,” Marinette rasps plainly, idly lifting her hand and wiping the back of it against her mouth. She’s sure she feels worse than she looks, although not by much, “I have to see him. I have to know.”

When Marinette tries walking again, Alya pushes against her shoulders, keeping her in tow. “Okay yeah, no. Mari, girl. You were just telling me that he didn’t want to know your identity because it was dangerous. So what are you going to do? Waltz in through the door and announce who you are?”

“And if his dad _is_ Hawkmoth,” Nino adds desperately, seemingly more thrown off and frightened at her behavior than Alya, “then you’re basically surrendering at that point, right?”

“Right,” Alya agrees, “Adrien can’t know. And besides, we aren’t completely sure he really is Chat Noir yet, so—“

“He is,” Marinette says, and what takes her breath away about that statement is that she believes it.

So when she ducks below Alya’s grip and begins walking, she’s resolved to let nothing stop her. Not Alya, not Nino, not even Adrien himself.

She hears Alya swearing some more and she doesn’t pay attention as she and Nino mutter things to each other as they follow quickly behind her. All she can tell is that they’re both getting increasingly frustrated at each other, to the point where they’re almost yelling at one another.

Marinette comes to a full stop minutes later when the Agreste mansion is in sight, and both Nino and Alya—still bickering mindlessly—nearly run her down.

“What now?” Nino asks, steadying Alya with one hand and Marinette with the other hand. “Do we just knock and say, ‘Hey, we’re here to see Adrien who doesn’t want to see us at all but because we’re pretty sure he’s a superhero we kind of need to talk to him about it.’” He scoffs, “Yeah, that will go over real well.”

“Shut up,” Alya mumbles as she takes the lead, “If we’re going to do this, let me do all the talking.” She shoots the two a stern look over her shoulder. “And I mean _all of the talking_.”

“Fine by me!” Nino grins, and the smile almost conceals his nervousness, but not quite. “Sound good Marinette?”

But she’s frozen where she stands and she’s not sure if she’s begun to shake or if that’s just the world spinning around her. She can’t quite tell if she’s going to be sick again or not but she can’t afford to, so as a reply she simply reaches out and grabs Nino’s hand. He’s not as perceptive as Alya but he doesn’t question her and tucks her into his side as he walks after Alya, muttering expletives under his breath.

She hasn’t even had time to adequately mentally prepare herself before Alya’s rang the doorbell and is already speaking to someone on the other side of the intercom.

“We’re here to see Adrien,” she explains quickly and smoothly, her words fluttering out too fast for her to possibly get cut off or dismissed, “we have some homework for him that we decided we’d bring by, along with a few messages from other friends. We’ve just been worried about him and wanted to surprise him with something.”

“ _You can deposit whatever it is, as well as the homework, here_.” A female’s voice coolly replies as an automatic bin extends out from the brick.

Alya’s quick to reply and laughs dismissively, ignoring the protruding mailbox. It would probably seem like a rude reply from anyone else, but it’s _Alya_ and she makes it work. “It’s not a physical surprise. It’s _us_ ,” she clarifies, “we’re here to surprise him.” She pauses, pretending to think, “Unless you want us to jump in this thing?” She asks jokingly, her smirk widening when the mailbox closes.

“ _Adrien isn’t expecting any visitors_ ,” the voice deadpans.

Another perfectly measured laugh from Alya, “Because we’re _surprising_ him.”

“ _You misunderstand_ ,” the woman replies, her cool voice rising a little—Alya must be getting on her nerves—and Marinette panics slightly, “ _Adrien is not taking visitors. Good day—“_

“ _Nathalie_.”

There is silence for a few long seconds as an unheard conversation takes place on the other side of the intercom. During that time Marinette feels her stomach rise into her throat, sink down to her toes, and spin itself back into her chest, constricting so tightly she isn’t sure whether she’s actually breathing or not.

That voice.

She’s heard Gabriel Agreste speak dozens of times. TV interviews, YouTube videos, even a few times in person—if you can count through a tablet webcam as in person—but hearing him now, Gabriel Agreste doesn’t come to mind.

Hawkmoth does.

“ _Please, come in_.” The woman’s voice returns, sounding forced.

And when the gates open, Nino and Alya have to drag her behind them.

 _It’s him_ , she wants to scream at her friends. She grips Nino’s hand tighter and digs her fingers into Alya’s forearm. She wants to run. She wants to turn and run and run until she’s lost and has nowhere to go.

She isn’t ready. She’s foolishly unprepared for this and can’t help but pray that this is all just one big hallucination.

The second she steps through the door, she feels chills. Standing at the top of the stairs, arms held neatly behind his back, Gabriel Agreste stares down his nose at the trio, his face utterly emotionless as he takes them in.

The teenagers stare up at him expectantly, but he only sizes them up for a long, tense moment before he turns and retreats without speaking a word. A woman that Marinette vaguely recognizes steps before them—Nino jumps, clearly not noticing her before—and holds an arm before her.

“Adrien has been under the weather recently,” she speaks as she leads them up the stairs and down a hallway, “he needs his rest so you’ll be limited to twenty minutes.” She pauses before the door and spares them a quick glance; Marinette can’t help but notice how her bun is done perfectly. There isn’t a stray hair out of place. “You’re also personally responsible if you happen to get yourselves sick as well. That’s your only warning.” She turns back toward the door, knocks three times, and with long, even strides, they listen as Nathalie departs, leaving them standing behind Adrien’s too-tall bedroom door.

Alya turns toward them, her carefully put-together façade falling as her trepidation shows. “Marinette, don’t reveal yourself, please. Let me handle this.” She turns toward Nino, “And don’t go picking any more fights. I’ve got this.”

The door swings open lazily to reveal a tired Adrien, one hand rubbing an eye, the other lazily hanging on the doorknob.

“Nathalie, what—“

“Shut up and listen,” Alya cuts him off before he’s fully able to comprehend the fact that Nathalie isn’t there, _they_ are. She pushes past him cleanly, clipping his shoulder and knocking him out of the way. It isn’t unlike what he did to Marinette the day before, and the realization sits heavy in her chest even as Nino pulls her inside quickly behind him. “We need to talk.”

Adrien openly gapes at them for a few seconds before he closes his door quickly and reels on them. “What on Earth are you guys doing here?”

“Your father let us in,” Alya replies smoothly, frowning deeply at Adrien’s hostile tone. “Even though we were told you weren’t allowed visitors.”

At that information, Adrien’s eyes nearly bug out of his head and his hands find purchase in his hair quickly, tugging at the golden strands. He mutters something under his breath quickly before he’s looking at them, a desperate look breaking through.

“You guys can’t be here,” he tries to explain, fingers still tangled in his hair, “it’s—I can’t tell you why I just—you need to _go_. I’m serious. I—I don’t want you here. Get out, I mean it.”

Adrien’s attempt at coming off as cold and unattached fails almost pitifully. The teenager wears his heart on his sleeve, there’s no hiding the fear in his green, pleading eyes, and it pokes and pulls at her heart painfully.

“Adrien, drop the act,” Alya says lowly, eyes shooting around his extravagant room, “he can’t hear us, can he?”

Adrien begins to shake his head but immediately halts the action, his hands falling from his head, “I mean, what—what are you talking about—Alya,” he turns toward Nino and Marinette, “what are you guys _doing_ here?!”

“Ladybug sent me.”

Adrien stiffens up at Alya’s words as he turns back toward her. He isn’t facing her any more but Marinette can see as all the color drains from the back of his neck until he’s as white as a sheet.

 _It’s him,_ her mind shrieks at her, _it’s Chat_.

“That’s ridiculous—why would Ladybug send you here? She doesn’t know—I mean—what does Ladybug want—“

Alya walks up to Adrien and snatches his hand up from his side, showing him the ring on his finger. “Shut up, Adrien.”

Marinette sees the ring, sees Adrien’s realization strike him, and things go black for a moment.

When she starts coming back to her senses, all she can focus on is the yellow of his walls on the far side of the room, and all she can wonder is _has that shade of yellow always been so ugly?_ It’s when she realizes she’s staring at it from the floor when she realizes she’s fallen.

“Shit, Marinette,” Nino is above her and Alya is quick to join her by the floor, slowly helping her up, “you’re okay. Breathe. Are you going to be sick again?”

The room is still spinning and she can’t quite feel her body well enough to tell so instead she shrugs, her head lolling to the side.

“What’s wrong with her?” She can see Adrien pacing, his hands still tangled up in his hair. The light in the room catches on the face of the gray ring, and her heart begins to race.

It’s really him.

“Chat?” She asks in a small voice, not taking her eyes off his ring, even as his hands flutter around. Eventually he covers the ring with his hand and approaches them.

“You guys shouldn’t know that—how did she—how did Ladybug find you? How did she know?”

“She didn’t,” Alya quickly says, “she _doesn’t_. I figured it out.”

“We both did,” Nino says, speaking up.

“Ladybug came to me—since she knows I run the Ladyblog—and asked for my help to find you. And I sucked at it but we kept looking and eventually Nino said some things and Ladybug said some things and,” Alya waves her hands in the air before gesturing toward him, “it just fit! You fit it all! It’s—it all fits! Which means your father—“

Alya lets out a squeak as Adrien storms up to her and slaps a quick hand over her mouth. “Shut up,” he hisses coldly, eyes darker than Marinette has ever seen them. Her nausea doubles and her head starts to hurt but she can’t find her voice to say anything. “Seriously, stop it.”

“Adrien let go of her,” Nino snaps, standing up and placing a hand on his shoulder, “listen to Alya. We already know, so your best bet is to hear us out.”

“You don’t understand,” Adrien yells, ripping his hand back and glaring at them, “I’m trying to protect you guys!”

“Are you in danger?” Nino asks, voice significantly lower. “Do we need to go to the police?”

“What? No! I’m not in trouble, but I don’t know what he—what he might—“

“Trashcan,” Marinette manages to gasp, feeling herself begin to hyperventilate, “bathroom, help, something—“

Nino appears with a trashcan and places it at her side just in time for her to start convulsing. There’s nothing left in her stomach—she already emptied it once not even twenty minutes ago—so all she does is painfully dry-heave as her best friends continue to fight and snap at each other above her.

“Why did you bring her?” Adrien snaps at the two of them. “She’s having a panic attack.”

“This was her idea—“ Nino begins but Alya quickly cuts her off.

“Marinette’s been helping me,” she snaps, “and she’s just as worried about you as we are.”

“She can hardly _speak_ to me on a regular basis,” he snaps, “what makes you think she could handle something like _this_?!”

“Don’t talk about her like she’s not right here!” Alya snaps. “We’re your friends, Adrien. I don’t give a shit if you’re Chat Noir, we’re going to help you whether you like it or not!”

Marinette doesn’t realize silence has enveloped them until she stops convulsing, her stomach taking a break from trying to expel contents that aren’t even there any longer. When someone places a cool, damp rag against her head she lifts her eyes only long enough to see Adrien walking back over toward his bed.

“Ladybug doesn’t know?” He eventually speaks, his head resting in his hands.

“What’s happening right now will stay between the four of us,” Alya vows quietly, “I promise.”

There’s a lie hidden beneath that promise though; an important omission that neither Marinette nor Nino make any move to correct. The guilt that’s been eating away at Marinette for days now begins to act up as she hears those words, picking away at her chest from the inside out, digging it’s way slowly through her ribcage.

“I don’t want her to get hurt,” he confesses softly and from her spot, leaning against his trashcan, still sitting on the floor, Marinette can’t quite tell if he’s crying or not. “I don’t want any of you to get hurt.”

“Is he going to hurt us, Adrien?” Alya asks as Nino moves to sit beside his best friend, carefully placing a hand on his back. “Are we in danger?”

“I don’t know,” he cries, desperation soaking his tone. “All he said was that things are going to continue and that there’s a chance that with the akuma attacks people are going to get hurt—“

“There’s always a chance of people getting hurt in akuma attacks,” Alya reminds him swiftly. “Are we going to be targeted?”

“No? I don’t think so?” He shakes his head, pressing his palms into his eyes. “I don’t know. But you guys might be in danger. That’s why I need to stay away. Why you shouldn’t be here. Why I can’t be seen with you, at all, until this is resolved.” He lifts his head, revealing a set of bloodshot eyes. “That’s why you need to leave and not come back. That’s why you coming here was so unbelievably _stupid_!”

“Alya and I have already been victims of akuma attacks,” Nino offers, as if that’s supposed to be a comfort, “so at this rate I think we’re as high of a risk as anyone else in Paris. Maybe even less of a risk because of that.”

“Still. You guys need to leave. You need to not come back. I don’t know when I’m going back to school, if I do at all. Don’t come back here again, don’t text me or call me, and don’t dig any deeper into this. It’s none of your business. I can handle it. I’m the only one qualified to anyways.”

“Adrien—“

“No. Do you have a miraculous? Do you have powers?” They’re all silent, not daring to speak anything. Adrien laughs icily. “I didn’t think so. I can handle this, you can’t. That’s it. Now get out.”

Something has switched on inside of Adrien and Marinette picks it up immediately. There’s a new coldness about him that spreads through his posture and glazes over his eyes.

This isn’t fake. There is no lie in the way he straightens his spine or brushes off Nino’s hand. Adrien can’t lie well, that is something Marinette is almost certain of. This frigidness that is overcoming him is coming from deep inside him, it is authentic, and Marinette can feel is just as well as she can see it.

It absolutely terrifies her.

“You’re pushing us away, Adrien,” Alya says, and Nino nods in agreement right along with her. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut us out.”

“If you don’t leave I’ll have Nathalie call security,” he says dully, standing up as he—without even giving Marinette, who sits in the middle of his floor, a second glance—walks over to his window. “You have thirty seconds to get out.”

“Adrien, don’t do this—“

“Twenty-seven seconds.”

Nino swears loudly, not bothering to watch his tone or volume as he makes his way to Marinette’s side, carefully helping her onto her feet. She isn’t sure she’s going to be able to walk, so she clings to his side tightly, trying hard to mask the fact that her entire body is shaking.

Alya tries a couple more times to speak to Adrien but he simply replies with the amount of seconds left and threatens security once more. His walls are up, and they’re impressively impenetrable.

“Alya,” Marinette croaks, “it’s not worth it. Come on.”

When Alya relents, turning on her heel and stomping toward the door, not hiding the fact that she’s furious with Adrien, Marinette can only watch sadly.

“Chat,” Marinette calls, shocking even herself at how steady her voice sounds. “Please.”

She’s watching his form carefully and takes note as he stiffens but doesn’t turn their way.

“We’re just trying to help.” And then she’s too tired so speak any longer. Too tired to force out words that aren’t making any difference. Instead, she leans farther into Nino and silences herself.

If there is a time or place for her to get through to Adrien, to reveal her own identity, to win his trust over, this is not it.

They all leave at once, none of them looking back as they exit his room and eventually, the Agreste estate. 

* * *

 

“Friends of yours?”

Adrien doesn’t even turn to acknowledge his father. He heard him enter, but has been ignoring him for the full minute that the man has stood there, waiting.

So when he replies he keeps his voice cold, steady. “Not anymore.”

He cringes internally at how theatrical his statement sounds, but it has to be convincing-- _he_ has to be convincing--even if it is a lie.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the window and instead stares at his own reflection in the glass. The tears that burn pathways down his cheeks are traitors, but he keeps his posture rigid and refuses to turn.

Gabriel makes an almost pleased sound at that, yet his words contradict himself. “Pity.”

Even when he leaves, closing the door behind him, Adrien does not move from his spot. Even as the hours pass and his tears dry, he keeps his feet firmly planted. It isn’t until the sun has set and Plagg has fallen asleep on his shoulder—an attempt to comfort the miserable teenager—that he finally moves his heavy feet.

He transforms and sneaks out of his window, one destination in mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm surprised I even got this out. Daylight savings time is evil and it fucks with me every year.  
> Next chapter is undoubtedly my favorite. Look out for it by Thursday at the latest.
> 
> Also, thank you all for the kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions. No matter how cliche it sounds, that stuff really is good motivation. Hope the chapter wasn't too frustrating. You'll have to learn to live with that with this story (the frustration, that is). Again, find me on tumblr at [flowerslut](http://flowerslut.tumblr.com).


	8. Chapter 8

When Chat Noir lands soundlessly on the terrace he pauses for a long moment, contemplating his next move. He’d left his house with only a single thought pestering him relentlessly: _check on Marinette_.

Nino had been right when he said that he and Alya were likely to be in less danger than Parisians that had yet to be akumatized; the worst that could happen to them could be for them to fall victim to the _powers_ of a specific akumatized person. Not much better, but harshly different at its core.

Marinette hadn’t fallen victim to his father’s akuma yet, and as he’d stood there in his room, desperately trying and failing not to think of his friends, he knew that especially after today she was going to be at a huge risk of being possessed.

And the thought of another one of his friends falling victim to his father’s manipulation made him feel sick to his stomach.

He listens carefully for a few long moments—it almost sounds like she’s talking to herself—but when her voice stops suddenly he freezes. He hasn’t moved a muscle since he landed so there’s no way she’s heard him. He contemplates jumping away, fleeing from the scene—it seems like she’s fine after all—but when her trapdoor flies open and suddenly she’s staring right at him, he’s frozen.

“Chat—I mean, Adrien,” she breathes, eyes wide and disbelieving. “What are you…?” She peeks around, looks down into her room, and jumps up onto the terrace. She approaches him slowly, as if afraid he’s going to run, but when he doesn’t she grabs his hand and quickly pulls him after her, down through the trapdoor where he lands roughly on her bed.

Marinette’s quick to move off the bed with lithe, nimble movements as she flutters down to the floor and backs up, as if tentatively waiting for him to follow.

He has yet to speak a single word yet he silently follows her lead without questioning her. He doesn’t remove his eyes from her form. And as he takes in her features he’s relieved to see that she hasn’t been crying—or very recently, that is. Her eyes are tired and she looks exhausted, but her face lacks any redness or puffiness. It’s a small victory, but Adrien is thankful.

If she isn’t in any immediate emotional distress, her odds of becoming his father’s next victim diminish greatly. It’s an incredible heaviness to be taken off his chest.

“What are you doing here?” She whispers. Her voice is small and even that is enough to make him flinch. Marinette is a lively, confident girl. He knows this even if she has only ever spoken to him with jumbled phrases and half-hearted enthusiasm. He’s aware of her odd dislike of him; one of the reasons he always preferred talking to her like this, as Chat Noir.

Marinette’s never stuttered around Chat Noir. She’s never made an excuse to leave his presence or faked a laugh or smile. Marinette may not like Adrien, but she’s friendly with Chat Noir.

At least that’s the reason he has at that moment for holding his transformation, despite her knowing his identity. He simply stares at her, mouth in a straight line, and silently hopes that she’ll be able to bear the idea of being in his company, now that his two personas have merged.

He’s honest when he speaks. “I wanted to check on you. Nino and Alya… they’ve already been akumatized. You haven’t. I was afraid that after today…”

“Oh,” her tone gives away her surprise, “You thought that I’d be next.”

His mouth is suddenly dry with the thought that the possibility isn’t entirely off the table as long as his father is preying on the emotionally compromised. “Yeah,” he rasps. “I was worried.”

There’s a softness in her eyes that he bathes in momentarily before she speaks. “I’m alright.”

“You had a panic attack on my floor this afternoon,” he reminds her flatly, “that’s not ‘alright’.”

Her brows twitch slightly at his tone and a part of Adrien feels excitement bloom inside him. “Forgive me for not handling the information that my—“ she shakes her head slightly, “that you’re _Chat Noir_ , as well as you hoped.”

His own annoyance seems to blossom at that comment but it’s quickly overshadowed by an indescribable sadness. “Why did you even come today? If you knew it was me, why come?”

“Because you’re my _friend_ , and you need help.”

He laughs. It’s a bitter and dark noise that doesn’t sound like him at all. “You have an odd way of showing friendship, Marinette.”

His words hit her like a slap in the face, judging by the way she reels at this comment, mouth agape. “Excuse me?”

A bit of guilt waves over him momentarily, but he pushes back against it. If Marinette is annoyed with him that means she’ll snap back. And having her angry with him is much better than having her afraid of him or incapable of speaking to him.

It’s a dumb idea, arguing with her, just to keep her talking to him, but he’ll take what he can get.

“You heard me today didn’t you?” He’s all nerves and jitters, but he hides it well behind the mask. He _shouldn’t_ be instigating a fight like this, but he can’t help himself. “You can hardly get two sentences out every time I try talking to you. You don’t have to pretend to like me just because I’m friends with Nino and Alya. If you don’t like me that’s fine, just don’t _lie_ about it.”

He isn’t aware of the fact that Marinette’s eyes can get wider than they are in that moment, but when they do, he pauses and anxiously waits for her to snap at him. To yell and stop her foot and stand up for herself like he’s seen her do to so many others.

But she doesn’t.

Marinette gathers the breath in her lungs and he’s _so_ _sure_ she’s going to blow up at him, tell him off, or maybe even cuss him out that when she begins to sob he is wholly unprepared.

And it breaks his heart.

 _Way to go,_ he thinks immediately, stomach clenching at the sound, _you jackass._

Her sobs start off dry and heartrending. It takes a few seconds for her eyes to catch up and for the tears to start flowing, but when they do they trail down her cheeks, dripping to the ground below her.

“Marinette,” he steps closer to her but before he can reach her she holds out a hand, keeping him at bay; her fury secondary to her distress. Her other arm tightens around her abdomen, as if she’s trying to physically keep herself from falling apart before him.

“You,” she sobs heavily, “you are such,” she draws in a shuddering breath, “an _idiot_!”

Marinette is absolutely hysterical at this point, and he’s so scared in those few seconds. A purple and black butterfly could flutter in at any moment and take over her, and he _can’t have that_.

He strides forward, three quick steps, and before she can protest any further he scoops her into his arms and holds her tightly.

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” he speaks hurriedly, one arm wrapped around her waist and another across her shoulders, “I’m sorry. It’s okay. God, I’m so sorry.” He isn’t quite sure what he’s apologizing for. Maybe for accusing her of not caring, maybe for trying to instigate a fight. But all that he knows is that _she could be next_ and he can’t have that. He cares for his friends too deeply to let any harm come to them. And whatever it is that Marinette finds unsettling about him, he wishes it were gone.

As one of his very first friends, he values her more than she seems to understand.

She’s clinging to him tightly in reply, sobbing directly into his chest as his gloved hand raises to cradle the back of her neck. His fingers move carefully, doing his best to avoid scratching her with his claws, as he tangles his hand in her hair.

“You’re so stupid,” she cries a couple minutes later, not any less hysterical. “You—you really think that I don’t care? That what?” A hiccup interrupts her and she buries her face further down, as if trying to hide herself in his arms. “That I don’t give a shit? That I’m just along for the ride?”

His throat is thick with guilt and it’s so hard to swallow it back that it _hurts_ when he speaks.

“That’s what it always seems like,” he confesses, wincing at his own words despite their truth. “You don’t like being around me. Or talking to me. I’m—I’m sorry but that’s just the impression I get!”

And with that statement he immediately feels so incredibly silly he wishes he could plush the words out of the air and take them back. He feels childish, and when Marinette pulls back and looks at him with a strange glance, he simply wishes she _wouldn’t_.

She’s still crying when she speaks again, but it’s not with the same breathless hysteria, “You think… that because I get nervous in front of you… that I don’t like you…?”

He blinks at her, confused. “Well, yeah!” He blurts out, unable to help himself. In the back of his mind a voice is screaming at him—he idly wonders if it’s Plagg trying to get through to him. He was supposed to check on Marinette to make sure she wasn’t at risk for being akumatized, not to make things worse with his embarrassing insecurities and inability to comfort a friend.

And now here she is, crying her eyes out—something she _hadn’t_ been doing when he arrived—and most likely more at risk than she was before..

She’s staring up at him with a peculiar look on her face, studying him as if looking for something she can’t quite find.

“I’m just making this worse, aren’t I?” He deadpans, as she steps away from him fully, her eyes scanning over every inch of him.

“You’re definitely not helping,” she says in agreement, not fully composed but not actively crying anymore.

She’s still studying him, eyeing him up and down, softly sniffling to herself as she wipes the remnants of tears off her face.

“What are you--?”

“Shut up.”

And he does. Immediately. Partly because he doesn’t know what else to say and partly because this is Marinette. And Marinette has never told him to shut up before.

He’s also never been intimidated by her before. But there’s a first for everything.

“You’re an idiot,” she repeats.

He’s also never been insulted by her so many times before. Or by anyone this much, really. He can’t think of anything to say, so he settles for a simple, “okay.”

When she steps closer to him, he automatically steps backward. He doesn’t know why, but he feels uncomfortable under her close scrutiny. Perhaps it’s because now his identity is known by her, or because she’s never quite looked at him _this way_ before.

As if she’s looking through the suit. Looking at _Adrien_ , not Chat Noir.

Eventually he backs up enough that the back of his legs hit something. He glances at a chaise lounge behind him and almost squeaks when she places her hands on his face.

 _Look at me_.

He isn’t sure if he’s hearing things or if her message is simply _that_ clear, but when he faces Marinette, finally looking her in the eye, he’s caught frozen by her gaze.

With touches so light he can hardly feel them, her fingers ghost over the edges of his mask, rising and pushing through his hair until they ever-so-lightly run across the black ears atop his head. They eventually flutter back down until she’s cupping his cheeks and then she’s turning his head from side to side.

As she examines him—looking for something that he can’t quite figure out—he can’t help but stare. Perhaps it’s the fact that she’s never looked directly at him for so long before, but he realizes that he never knew she had freckles…

“Adrien,” his attention snaps back to her eyes, “it _is_ you…”

He smiles nervously then. That’s something he’s good at: smiling. So good and so practiced that he often defaults to a smile in situations where he doesn’t quite know what to do or say.

This certainly being one of them.

“God, I can’t believe I never saw it before,” she finally lowers her hands and backs away, but only slightly. “Years ago Alya said that you looked alike—you and Chat Noir I mean—but I was so adamant that there was no way and—and there _was_ a way clearly because—well, I mean look at you,” she pauses in her tirade to gesture to his entire self, “it’s clearly you and clearly Alya was onto something from the beginning and—damn Alya’s a lot better of a journalist than I thought I’ve been so stupid and—“

“Um, Marinette?” Despite the immense relief and mild joy he’s experiencing at seeing her relatively calm and _not_ horribly emotionally compromised because of him, her mention of her best friend reignites his nerves. “You guys… you aren’t going to tell Ladybug who I am, are you?”

She freezes at that, and his blood runs cold.

“You… didn’t already tell her… did you?” He tries to step back away from her only to realize he’s already almost pinned against her chaise.

Fear then paralyzes him despite the overwhelming urge to flee. Marinette shuffles on her feet slightly, as if looking for an answer that he isn’t too sure he wants to hear.

“Alya promised,” he says, panic evident in his voice. “She said this would stay between us.”

“And it has,” Marinette assures him quickly, “I promise you. It is staying between us four.” She looks almost pained to admit such a fact, and Adrien feels a tiny bit guilty despite the relief. He wonders if Ladybug has gone seeking out Alya yet, desperately trying to figure out his identity behind the mask. He finds it hard to believe that Alya would lie to _Ladybug_ of all people. But Alya is his friend, and she promised... even so…

“Alya…”

“Us four,” Marinette repeats, “only between us four.” And that’s when he recognizes the emotion on her face as guilt. Likely guilt from keeping such a huge secret from his partner.

“You’re not betraying Ladybug by keeping this from her,” he assures her, because she _needs_ to know this. “I know my dad—I mean, I know—“ he groans with frustration, looking for the correct words to assure her, but nothing is coming out right. “The situation is very… delicate, yeah. But I would never ever make you guys go along with this if it weren’t absolutely vital to everyone’s safety.”

“That’s what we don’t get Chat—I mean, Adrien—“ she bites her tongue and some emotion flashes over her features. Annoyance, maybe? “Do you have to wear that right now?”

He knows she means the Chat Noir transformation but he shrugs and doesn’t make a move to release it. He watches her place a hand on her hip and raise an eyebrow, as if _waiting_ for him to de-transform, and he’s suddenly uncomfortable.

“I—uh, I’d really rather not. If—if you don’t mind.”

As dumb as if may seem to her, when he’s Chat Noir it’s all so much easier to channel his confidence. He knows that if he were to be standing there as Adrien Agreste, he wouldn’t have nearly as much nerve as he does now. And he needs this. To be able to stand up to Marinette without fear of her getting uncomfortable, or him getting discouraged.

She simply nods once, looking a strange mixture of disappointed and relieved, and he doesn’t quite understand it.

“We’re trying to understand why it’s not safe for us to know your identity.” She pauses, “Why _Ladybug_ can’t know your identity.”

He grinds his teeth at the thought of his Lady knowing and does his best to shake her from his thoughts. “My father is smart. Incredibly, impossibly smart. It’s actually a miracle that I kept being Chat Noir a secret for so long. Even that was a fluke. It—“ he flinches at the memory, “that should have never happened in the first place. But my dad… I wouldn’t’ve been surprised if he would’ve figured it out eventually. He’s _smart_.”

“Then why not let Ladybug help?”

Tears begin to prick at his eyes and Adrien has to look away for a few seconds in order to pull himself together. Marinette is patient though, and when he looks down at her deep blue eyes, his chest hurts with a painful sense of d _é_ ja vu.

“I love my dad,” he clarifies carefully, “but I don’t trust him right now. And I would never _ever_ put Ladybug in danger like that.” He finds himself chewing on his lip so hard that he’s surprised his elongated canines don’t puncture the skin. “If I know her identity, it would be that much easier for my father to figure it out. And if _he_ knows her identity, he… he could do something.”

“Do what?” Her voice is so small he hardly hears it. He shakes his head, attempting to shake the question completely out of existence. He doesn’t want to think about it—about the fact that his father could very well hurt the love of Adrien’s life in order to restore his own.

“I don’t know.”

Somehow, he knows that she can tell he’s lying.

“So, it’s all to protect her?”

“Yes,” he breathes out, “I’d do anything to protect her.” He swallows thickly, “Anything to keep her safe.”

When Marinette starts crying again, he’s left confused for a few seconds before his panic starts making its way to the surface.

“I—that doesn’t mean I’m not going to protect you guys, too!” He assures her, rushing forward slightly and placing his hands on her shoulders. “I will! I definitely will! I mean, you’re not entirely in the clear either, since you know my identity—“ she chokes on a sob as he speaks and he wants to hit himself “that was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it? Oh man, Marinette? I’m sorry, I really do promise I’ll protect you—“

He’s cut off by another hug. This one bigger, with Marinette clinging to him like he’s the oxygen she’s struggling to inhale in that moment.

“Don’t push us away,” she whimpers pitifully against him, “please, please Adrien. Even if we can’t help you, don’t shut us out.”

“I can’t make any promises,” he confesses. “It’s a part of keeping you guys safe.”

“You’re an idiot,” she sniffles almost angrily.

“You already told me.”

“Not enough I haven’t.”

He almost smiles.

“So what?” She doesn’t release her hold on him but she does reign in her tears a bit. “You’re just going to retreat into the shadows to do your superhero nonsense and leave us behind?”

“I wouldn’t call it nonsense—“

“That is _not_ the _point_!” She drops the hug again, and his joking tone vanishes when he sees the true pain across her face. “The point is that this is dangerous. You aren’t indestructible.”

“I don’t know about that,” he taps the side of his mask, “this suit is pretty sturdy.”

“I’m not talking about physically, Adrien.”

“I—Oh,” he says dumbly. Only because he’s not used to anyone ever acknowledging his emotional vulnerability. No one has cared enough about his mental state in years to vocalize concern over it.

Not since his mother died.

“Even if you don’t go to the movies with us or eat lunch with us or whatever,” she squeezes him tightly, and Adrien’s taken aback with how surprisingly strong she is as she holds him in her embrace, “just… just at least keep us updated. To some extent. Please?”

“I can’t promise you that.”

“But can you try?” She’s so desperate for anything that he can’t help but nod. Promises, he can’t do. But he supposes he can always _try_.

He holds her tightly, trying hard to let the embrace soak through him, sinking into his bones and warming him from his core. He’s not going to admit it out loud but Marinette’s right. He isn’t indestructible. He _won’t_ be able to go through this alone and expect to make it out the other end completely sane. So for a long moment he allows himself to indulge.

If he could keep Marinette from being akumatized, it would be one small victory. Because if he can’t even do that, how can he expect to keep Ladybug out of the clutches of his father?

He must subconsciously tighten his hold on Marinette because she shudders out a breath and squeezes him back. Neither speak for several minutes until her arms fall and she begins to lead him back toward her trapdoor.

He follows her onto the patio wordlessly. He won’t lie and say he’s not disappointed at being dismissed from her presence so abruptly. Selfishly he wishes she would hold him again. It’s the raw, genuine comfort that he’s finding himself craving, and at this point he’ll take it from anyone he can get; Ladybug, Marinette, or whoever.

 “Come back, okay?” She speaks after a couple of quiet minutes out in the cool air. She doesn’t turn to look at him. Not once. “As Chat, as Adrien. Through the roof or the front door. I don’t care. Just come back, okay?”

He nods even though she can’t see him. He contemplates saying anything but can’t find the words. He’s afraid if he speaks he’ll only ask her to hold him again, and he doesn’t want to completely sacrifice _all_ of his pride tonight. Besides, he’s only just found out that Marinette doesn’t actually hate him. He isn’t too eager to ruin whatever middle ground they seem to be standing on.

So instead of bidding her a farewell, he extends his staff, and leaves. A wordless promise hanging in the air and he prays she can hear.

 _I’ll be back_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait. Hope it was worth it. Kudos and comments are wonderfully appreciated.


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